Only the Living Know Victory
by sweetestcondition
Summary: Just when Fenris and Hawke finally talk about the meaning of "that night," they are torn apart again. What if Danarius succeeds? Will Fenris remember any of it? Female Hawke/Fenris romance with other characters as well.
1. Shackled

_***Part I***_

**Fenris**

He stopped only momentarily, picking a sliver of wood from between his toes, and continued his determined march through Hightown. He needed to walk, so he strode through the streets as if he had some place to go. He pressed his legs forward despite their protesting aches. His master was dead and he was no longer a slave. He should have an overwhelming sense of relief. Instead he clenched his jaw and quickened his pace.

His tour of the district had taken him past the windows of the wealthy families of Hightown. He stood in the shadows, watching one family warm by their hearth. A middle-aged couple sat together on a large claw-legged chair. Two boys were engaged in a game of dice on the floor, the firelight playing across their smiling faces. Fenris was stricken by the warmth of the scene. He took in the red velvet upholstery, the low crackling fire, and the woman's posture as she lazed across her husband's lap with a leather-bound tome. How pathetic he must look. A lonely elf, cold and hiding in the shadows, pacing circles around the city.

He slumped against the manor's wall and let his thoughts drift. They drifted where they always did. He'd replayed her look of devastation and disbelief time and time again. He had reveled in her touch, and enjoyed the closeness of another body for the first time. Well, the first time he could remember.

He sighed.

"Hawke," he said out loud to the darkness.

The closeness with her had brought memories of his life as a slave flooding back. They washed over him until he felt he would drown. The moment with Hawke, the one woman he had come to respect, had been tainted by his past. So he had fled. He had left Hawke, still in bed and vulnerable after a night of potent love-making. He ran because he was a coward. The three years since that night had been filled with awkward glances and a deep longing.

His yearning for her only intensified as he watched Hawke try to fill the void he had left with other pursuits. There was one pursuit that absolutely crushed him. Anders. She had run to the mage for comfort not two weeks after their night together. He furrowed his brow and clenched his teeth, digging a hole in the cool dirt with his toes. Yet, how could he blame her? Anders had been there for her when he could not.

"You're liable to tunnel back to Tevinter at that rate," Isabella emerged from the shadows behind him. She shook her head and quirked an eyebrow at the hole he had scratched in the dirt.

"You have been trailing me?" he rumbled. "Leave me be."

"Would that I could, handsome. Would that I could."

Isabela was a perfectly ravishing sight as usual. She fastened her bodice to be so low-cut, it drove most men mad. Although Fenris was not completely immune to her charm, he remained loyal to Hawke. He was too distracted most days to pay much heed to Isabela's flirtation. This night was no different.

"Blast it Isabela!" He leaned abruptly toward her, grabbing her upper arm. "She sent you to follow me, didn't she?"

"Squeeze a little lower if you would, my sweet," she purred, twisting her lips into a half smile.

Fenris released her arm and glared at her, slumping back again to lean against the cool brick wall. Hawke had a habit of keeping an eye out for him, even if she couldn't bear to trail him herself.

"She loves you, you know," Isabela said, assuming a veneer of sensitivity. She picked a loose thread from one of her fingerless leather gloves. "When I get her nice and sloshed, she still goes on about you."

Fenris twisted the red scarf around his wrist. How did he deserve Hawke's favor after all of this? He remembered how Hawke had disengaged herself from his advances that night and pulled the red sash from her drawer. Her eyes shone as she had tenderly tied the fabric around his gauntleted wrist. The night of passion to follow this gesture had been the subject of his dreams ever since. She had given him the sash, a symbol of her love, and never asked for it back. He continued to wear the token in an attempt to show Hawke that he did care, even if he could never broach the subject with her.

"She deserves better," he whispered, tightening the scarlet material around his gauntlet one last time. He chewed his bottom lip to keep from divulging more on the subject to the insistent rogue.

"A truer statement was never uttered. Why she has chosen to invest all of this effort into such a mopy Tevinter elf, I will never know," Isabela turned and slipped into the shadows near the mansion's side wall. "I'll report that you are alive and as tiresome as ever," she added just before disappearing completely.

_The chains are broken, but are you truly free?_

The witch had been right. "Asha'bellanar" as Merril had called her, had spoken these words to him at the top of Sundermount. His master was dead, but where was the celebration? His heart was as heavy as it had been that morning. He was a free man, a slave to no one. Yet, all he could do to celebrate his freedom was wander the streets aimlessly. Fenris finally changed direction and made for Danarius' estate. At least his dreams might bring him some respite from his conscious thoughts.

**Danarius**

The stench of old blood filled his nostrils. From the terrible burning sensation pulsing through his chest cavity, he guessed the blood was his own. He dared to breathe, the pain filling his lungs, squeezing out any hope of more air. He tried again, this time a shallow breath.

"Oh Danarius, Thank the Maker!" A familiar voice cried. "Varania, come quickly with a basin or I swear..." The voice trailed off and he heard the woman rifling through something in the corner of the room.

A fog passed over him again, lulling him back to where he had been. Numb...

Darkness...

A sudden jolt of memory flooded through him. Fenris. The Champion. Battle. He had fallen, but did his most prized possession slip through his fingers again? He immediately tried to sit, but the burning pain in his chest would not allow it.

"Where is he?" he screamed through the fog.

The exertion forced him to close his eyes. He resumed the shallow breathing that seemed to keep the fire out of his chest.

"My love, he is gone and you are lucky to be alive," Minara said gently, making her way over to the bed. He opened his eyes to meet her gentle gaze. As she ran her fingers across his jawline, through his silvery beard, he felt her magic fresh on her slender fingertips. Blood on her wrists gave away the extent of his own injuries. He was in worse shape than he thought if she had used blood magic to heal him.

So his little Fenris had escaped. Again.

"Your basin, Mistress," Varania whispered. Water sloshed onto the floor as the trembling red-haired elf presented the basin to Minara. She snatched it from her apprentice, slapping her with a strength fueled by the tension she had held since her husband had fallen a few hours ago.

Varania reeled back and fell like a heap to the floor.

"How long was I unconscious? Are any of my men alive?" Danarius said, ignoring the sobbing elf splayed across the floorboards.

"A few hours now, my dear. You," she faltered, "created quite a powerful weapon. Fenris phased right through you and nearly tore out your heart according to one of the surviving guards." Minara's voice trailed off as she looked blankly at the wall. "I thought you were gone. I thought… I couldn't do enough."

Danarius looked into his wife's eyes again. "Thank you."

Minara dipped a sponge into the wash basin and dabbed cool water across his forehead and down his neck.

"I hope that your 'little wolf' Fenris is worth the trouble he has caused, both to you and all but the two guards who survived," Minara spat.

Danarius had thought their plan infallible. He would use Fenris' sister, Varania as bait to lure Fenris to the Hanged Man tavern in Lowtown. He promised Varania that she would be more than just a magister's apprentice if they succeeded. He brought all of his best guards to apprehend Fenris. The elf was _his._He'd been his for so long, that Danarius half expected Fenris to walk right back to his side, calling him master the moment he saw him. He had been an investment, a weapon created by the infusion of lyrium into a well-trained warrior's body_._

_A powerful weapon indeed_, Danarius thought to himself, still measuring each breath to minimize the pain.

"It seems that this taste of freedom has changed my little pet. Still predictable, yet now he follows another," Danarius mused.

"He left Varania alive, even after her part in luring him here."

"No doubt trying to prove something to himself. How very _merciful_," he sneered.

"No matter. The guards found her only a few buildings away, sobbing wildly behind a merchant's booth."

"And what news of Fenris and his _Champion_?" Danarius twisted the last word with poison. Despite his bitter resentment, frustration with the situation, and urgent need for revenge, his eyes felt heavy again. He glanced around the room wishing he had the strength to go somewhere else. The room was grimy, poorly lit, and he could hear raucous laughter below. Minara must have had to rent a room in the filthy tavern.

"They cannot elude us forever. You are a powerful magister and will recover quickly."

"Especially with the care of a skilled healer such as yourself," Danarius managed weakly.

"Rest, we have all the time in the world to hunt down that beast," Minara soothed.

"Yes," he smirked. "Especially now that we know who holds his leash."


	2. A Gamble

**Hawke**

Varric sat stone-faced in the wooden chair across from her, hands over the cards that he had just laid on the table. He pulled a gold coin from his coin purse and plunked it down in the middle of the table, then eyed Anders.

Anders was chewing on the inside of his lip. Hawke smiled to herself. He was going to bluff.

"I'll raise you two sovereigns," he stated confidently.

The stakes were a little high for her taste. She had never been one for gambling, but Hawke simply could not resist betting now. She knew their tells too well. Whenever Varric put his cards on the table, he had nothing worth looking at. She had always been able to read Anders well. When he was nervous he chewed his lip, made a joke, or took a drink. If only every man in her life were as easy to read as these two. She pushed the thought aside.

Hawke brushed a lock of hair from her face and gently placed a stack of two sovereigns next to Anders' neat pile. She then made a show of counting five more in her open palm, and plunked them down individually in the middle of the table.

Merrill looked as though she would be sick. Her brow furrowed and her lips were drawn into an uneven puckered scowl.

"I really do not understand this game. How can each of you always have something good?" Merrill accused throwing her cards in the middle of the table.

Varric then did the same, chuckling. "I fold Hawke, even though I doubt you have much over there." He waved in Hawke's direction, then slapped Merrill heartily on the back. "Let's see how this plays out eh, hon?" Varric leaned back in his chair. "How 'bout you Blondie? Think you've got Hawke nailed this time?" Varric winked in Anders' direction.

She caught a glance from Anders, but he quickly looked down at his hand again. She thought she saw his cheeks flush before he rearranged his cards for the sixth time. Anders had never stopped sending fleeting looks her way since they had shared something together several years ago. She still wasn't sure what that something was. He understood her. That could always be counted on. They were both mages and could sit up late into the night discussing magic. She had improved her healing spells with his help. He had been there to comfort her when Fenris had left her.

She thought about the events of the day. After Danarius was dead and his sister had betrayed him, Fenris confided that he felt alone. She took a chance at that moment in front of everyone at the Hanged Man to tell him that she was there for him. She shuddered as she recalled the way his deep green eyes held her gaze as he raised a hand to brush her cheek. She saw nothing but tenderness in his features. It made her ache to be close to him. He turned away then, and when he turned back to her, he had lost the gentle look; it had been replaced by his well-used shroud of bitterness and guilt.

When Fenris left the Hanged Man, they all knew better than to follow. Anders had given her hand a squeeze, smiling sadly at her as he always did when matters of Fenris were concerned. He knew she still loved Fenris. They'd had the "why Fenris he doesn't deserve you" discussion time and time again. At this point, Anders had just conceded to not discuss it further. That didn't stop him from trying to win her over to his cause at every possible turn.

Anders placed a bet to match Hawke's and smiled deviously at her.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you want to do that? Think of all the supplies you could buy for the clinic with those five sovereigns," she teased.

His eyes narrowed at her in mock contempt, but the half smile left on his lips gave him away.

She showed her winning hand to her three companions and let out a hearty chuckle. "Sorry ladies and gents, but I remain the Queen in my own castle."

Merrill got up and stretched, letting out a squeak of a yawn as she did. "The only way I ever have a chance is if I ask Isabela to bring you all a few drinks before we play." She pushed her chair in neatly and turned to leave. "Thanks for having me over," she called over her shoulder.

Anders had begun to head toward the door as well. "I've got to get an early start tomorrow at the clinic." Anders' eyes stayed locked with hers a moment too long. "Thank you for this. It was exactly what I needed."

When the door closed quietly behind him, Varric shot her a sharp glance. "Hawke. No bullshit. What is going on in that head of yours?"

Her defenses went up, she responded as she usually did when her emotions were raw, with sarcasm. "Why whatever do you mean, my vertically challenged friend?"

Varric rolled his eyes. "Quit deflecting, Hawke. You were playing cards about half the time with us, and half the time with some powerful unseen force on the wall behind me."

Hawke's features softened. There was really no sense arguing with the dwarf, he would needle her until he found what was bothering her. They had spent many nights together either at her mansion or at The Hanged Man discussing politics, their companions, and the occasional love interest. He knew of her feelings for Fenris. She was sure everyone talked about it when they weren't there.

Varric looked at her, groaning with a sudden understanding. "It's the elf again, isn't it?"

Her mind wandered back to those green eyes glowing with affection for her. She thought of her night with Fenris. She easily recalled his lean muscular frame holding his warmth to hers, searching. She remembered the moment she gave him her favor, and how his expression softened then, almost in disbelief. He wore the sash on his wrist now, years later. Why? Why did he torture her with tenderness, only to harden again moments later?

She broke then, falling back into her chair. She sobbed, "I can't do this anymore Varric."

Varric, put one arm on her shoulder, and one on her knee in an attempt to comfort her. He looked pained and slightly shocked. She was well aware of the fact that he had never seen her break down like this over Fenris. No one had. She kept a solid wall around her feelings for him, so that her companions would see no weakness there. Maybe it was the ale. Maybe it was the fatigue from today's events. Mostly, she thought, it would just be refreshing to let someone in. She needed to be comforted.

"Both of you are so daft, it's ridiculous," Varric chuckled warmly when her sobs slowed. "You obviously need each other, but can't get over your past or your pride long enough to admit it." Varric squeezed her knee and stepped back to pull up a chair next to her. "And poor Anders, that boy still thinks he has a shot. You ought to put him out of his misery."

She let her head fall back, resting against the back of the chair. She traced the lines of the arches on the ceiling with her eyes, trying to phrase a coherent response. "I've had that discussion dozens of times with Anders. I should never have used him like that and I have made my apologies there. I don't deserve his continued friendship, but he has chosen to forgive me."

"Then just go to Fenris," he let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop sending Isabela or myself to check up on him and just _go to him_." Varric left a sharp point on each of the last three words. "Please. If not for your own sanity, then for mine because I simply cannot take any more brooding looks from either one of you."

She rubbed the right side of her face, then placed her elbow on the table, palm under her chin and propped her head up. She stared into the fire "I know I should, especially after what happened today, but Isabela said he's out pacing the city again." She looked across the table at the dwarf. "I will visit him tomorrow. I promise. I'll give him another day, then Maker help me, I will try to talk to him."

Varric sniffed, seeming satisfied with her response. He rose from the chair and leaned forward to give her an awkward sideways hug. "Let me know if you need anything, Hawke."

Her friend was already halfway to the door when she called after him, "Thanks Varric."

"Anytime," he waved nonchalantly. "But don't you dare make a habit of this."

She wouldn't, she resolved to herself. Fenris would have to make a choice. Varric had been right. She couldn't do this forever, for her own sanity.

"Tomorrow then," she murmured to the empty chairs at the table.


	3. New Life

**Varania**

She was glad to be out of the Hanged Man. The stench of old alcohol and patrons who desperately needed a bath would be difficult to get out of her robes. She looked up briefly, watching dawn pour over Lowtown. Light had not reached the cool dusty path beneath her bare feet. It was just starting to wash over the rooftops of the shanties and merchant booths lining their path. She walked behind Danarius and Minara, carrying a sack full of potions and supplies. Danarius' two remaining guardsman trailed the party. Danarius moved briskly, no hint of the life-threatening injuries he had sustained during the previous days battle. His vigor was a testament to the healing power of his wife, Minara. She had already learned much from the woman. Varania had even been allowed to try a few spells to mend some abrasions on his wrist and upper arm.

"Before we call on my acquaintance in Hightown, we must make a quick errand," Danarius said flatly.

He led the party down a side alley where a merchant had begun stringing fish up for sale in his booth. Varania crinkled her nose as the smell permeated her nostrils. She hated fish. She always had, ever since she was a girl. So had Leto.

Leto.

She had been surprised by the way he had cringed and drawn back when she used his real name yesterday. He must have no memory of it. He was completely Fenris now. What was worse was his look of utter disbelief when he learned she had led Danarius to him. It shook her deeper than she thought it would. It had been years since she had seen him. She was so sure of her resentment for him; she thought her part in the trap would be easy. The fact that she harbored shreds of regret for her part in the plot surprised her.

Danarius scanned the alley, his eyes narrowing as he found who he was searching for. He gestured for the rest of the party to remain where they were. He strode up to a dirty, nervous-looking young human. He couldn't be any older than eighteen. Varania watched them exchange words. When they were finished, Danarius placed a silver in the boy's hand. He looked up and nodded toward the finely-robed magister, smiling.

She would have been a magister herself, had their plan been more successful . Maybe if she had attempted to stop Leto by adding a spell or two into the fray, things would have been different today. She had turned the thought over several times during the confrontation, but she could not do it. He was her brother. He had fought to gain freedom for her years ago. Still, why had he escaped and not come back for her and Mother? Maybe he hadn't remembered them at all. The branding of the lyrium into his skin had erased any memory of what had been. He had even thought the markings were forced upon him. She closed her eyes tightly, in an attempt to bring herself back into the present.

"Varania, stop dallying behind!" Minara snapped. "We have a long walk to Hightown."

The magister fell into a brisk stride in front of her. He turned to smile at Minara. "He knows where she lives."

Minara looked at Danarius, expectantly. "When can we retrieve her, then?"

He took Minara's hand in his own, not ever slowing their pace. "Patience my love. These are delicate matters. I've had enough violence for a few days as it is."

Minara playfully squeezed his hand as they marched on through the dingy backstreets of Lowtown. "Yes, but you paid that urchin for another job, correct?"

Danarius squinted in the sunlight as they turned the corner. He turned to glare at Varania. "I did indeed. This job isn't finished yet, is it Varania?"

"No, Magister," she replied respectfully. She bit her tongue to keep from saying more. She had to tread lightly from now on to keep from losing any more trust from the two magisters. They were so close to giving her an apprenticeship. She wasn't sure exactly where she stood with them. Maybe she had done enough to become an apprentice already. Either way, obedience would be her only way to escape from servitude.

Leto had managed to escape. He had even found friends. She thought back on his companions in the Hanged Man. A light-haired mage who looked to be throwing out some healing spells and a dark-skinned stealthy woman who looked like she needed at least another bolt of fabric added to her tunic. The Champion had been a mage. Yes, she was sure she had seen her casting spells in vicious succession at the guards that poured down the stairs. Leto had fought close to her, she recalled, always watching her flank. Perhaps her brother had found more than a friend, she mused.

"Of course it isn't, elf!" he continued, snapping her meandering thoughts back to their Lowtown march. "We need that foul youth to watch Hawke conduct her business for a few days. We must learn her routine, for we cannot afford another failed attempt to collect my property."

"Yes, Magister," was all she could muster. She hoped it sounded convincing.

**Fenris**

Fenris shook his head at the dwarf. He knew that Varric had made his visit out of real concern for him. He had indeed "holed himself up in this pit" for a while. Aveline was trying to state her case as well, to convince him to move on. Looking around at the state of the mansion, he could understand the concern. Broken glass from his favorite stress-reducing activity littered the corners of the room. Dust had collected on the unused antique furniture along the back wall of the study. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the entry archway and from the oversized glass chandelier in the foyer. He caught Aveline rambling on about the Seneschal finally catching him squatting there. He did appreciate her efforts to keep him from notice.

"You could go anywhere now!" the exasperated dwarf pleaded, arms gesturing wildly.

"Perhaps I don't wish to go anywhere," Fenris responded haughtily.

He didn't hear the rest of the dwarf's banter. Hawke had snuck in behind his other two companions. Her hair hung over one of her eyes and she smiled an acknowledgement to him. She made for the seat in front of him. Varric and Aveline headed to the front door. He waited for it to close behind them before he spoke.

"They don't understand. Yes, I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet… it doesn't feel as it should," he looked away, searching for a way to describe the tumultuous state of his thoughts.

She found the words to mirror exactly what he felt. "You thought killing him would solve everything, but it doesn't." Hawke had a way of never prying or telling him how he should feel. She would listen and reflect. She knew how to just _be _there.

Fenris dared to take her in completely. Her hair was slightly tousled, still hanging over one of her eyes. Her lips were full and drawn up slightly at the corners, her eyes bright with firelight. She was wearing one of her newer pilfered robes, which fit snugly across her curves, exposing the skin of her shoulders. Feathery embellishments circled her upper arms and fell against the supple skin of her neck. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to stop this dangerous meditation. Bitter thoughts began twisting at his logic. He had no right to be in her presence after what had transpired between them. She deserved to be loved, not abandoned. He turned from her, looking down at his filthy bare feet.

He found himself prattling on about not knowing how to live as a free man, not having anyone, no family, not even enemies. He saw her narrow her eyes slightly at that. He immediately wished he could take it back. There he went again, hurting her, accusing her unknowingly of not being there, when that was the farthest from the truth. He needed to get this right. He couldn't continue to run from her.

"Maybe that just means there's nothing holding you back," Hawke looked up expectantly. Fenris was taken aback. Where was her typical snarky retort to his broody monologue? Fenris noticed that there was no sarcasm this evening. There was no smirk playing upon her feminine features, no twist of her lips or eyebrows.

He let her see the rawness of his emotion again, telling her how stained he felt by what magic had done to him. He saw her wince at that. Another foolish choice of words, for Hawke was a mage herself. He just never thought to associate her with the selfishness of the magisters he had known. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself for what he should have said three years ago.

"Perhaps it is time to move forward. I just don't know where that leads," he sucked in a breath and decided to test the waters. "Do you?"

A silent moment passed between them. A log rolled over in the fire, embers crackling with the movement. He looked at her, eyebrows arched awaiting her response.

"Wherever it leads, I hope it means we'll stay together," she looked at him sincerely.

Fenris smiled at her, not breaking eye contact for fear of losing this moment. "That is my hope as well." She still cared for him, there was no doubt. It was time to be honest. It was time to stop running. It was time to say what he should have said three years ago. He took a deep breath. He faltered slightly as he began, "We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago."

"You didn't want to talk about it." Hawke responded simply.

Years ago, he would have left it at that, but not tonight. "I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me. I deserved no less." He paused, his voice seething with anger at himself. Her face softened, encouraging him to continue. She needed to hear this as much as he needed to confess it. "But it isn't better." He stood up and took a step toward her. His heart quickened as she looked tenderly up at him. Her closeness spun him back to the memory of her, warm and vulnerable in his arms. The hungry look in her eyes, her all encompassing hands, exploring. "That night – I remember your touch as if it were yesterday."

Fenris saw her inhale sharply. Perhaps her thoughts had taken the same turn as his. "I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now." He waited. If he had to, he would have waited another three years just to hear her response.

"I need to understand why you left, Fenris," the pain behind those words was a fire spell to his gut. He vowed to ease the hurt behind her eyes.

"I've thought about the answer a thousand times," he admitted, his inflection painted in shame. Fenris dropped her gaze then. He couldn't look into the depth of her and discuss these feelings. They were so unworthy of her. "The pain, the memories it brought up… it was too much. I was a coward."He choked on the last word. He looked across the room, continuing. "If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt."

"What would you have said?" she responded with a knowing, almost playful tone. Hawke knew where this was going now, confidence returning to her features.

He would give her no less than she deserved. He took yet another deep breath and let the passion he felt for her spill honestly from his lips. "Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

"I understand. I always understood."

A knot began to grow in his stomach, overtaking him and forcing him to take another step toward her. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he wasn't finished yet. He needed her to know how important she was. He could never let this happen again. He had been so close to losing her.

"If there is a future to be had," he paused, leaning down to speak directly in front of her. Her scent flooded his senses immediately. "I will walk into it gladly at your side."

She rose immediately to meet him. He placed a hand gently behind her head, cradling it to keep her close as their lips met. Fenris felt her hands run along his sides and he pulled her closer. She tasted just as she had that night, wildflowers, cinnamon, the forest floor, her smell and taste transported him. Were they memories or was it her? They became intertwined; he couldn't tell where she ended and he began. She was intoxicating. He kissed her hungrily, exploring her lips, then along her jaw to just behind her ear. He tasted the salt on her skin as he freed himself of his gauntlets and rushed to explore her again. The small of her back, the curve of her hips, he ran his fingers through her hair as he had in countless dreams. They stumbled backwards, landing in a collective heap on the dusty antique chaise behind them.

"Oh Fenris," she growled. The need in her voice only fueled his rising passion. "Why did you wait so long?"

He answered by bringing his lips back to hers, kissing her more forcefully than he had planned. "Marian, I'm sorry," he gasped, his own voice thick and ragged. Her first name presented itself powerfully, surprising even Fenris and he felt her lips turn into a smile. He pressed his body against hers, letting her feel his need as his hands roved through her robes, tracing the soft curves of her body. She whimpered as he found the curve of her breast, arching her back to bring herself closer to his warmth. He felt her sigh lustily beneath him, her breath in his ear causing a shiver of desire to course through him. She traced a path from his ear to his mouth and latched onto his bottom lip, sucking and teasing wildly.

Footfalls in the hallway caused Fenris to shoot a look toward the doorway. Seeing a figure standing in the entry, Fenris bolted from the chaise and grabbed his sword out of pure reflex.

"Oh come now, don't let me ruin the climax," a woman's voice dripped.


	4. Leverage

**Hawke**

The stealthy intruder slipped out of the shadows into the study, a wide grin on her face.

Isabela.

Fenris let his sword fall with a clank to the floor and slumped back onto the chaise. Hawke straightened her robes and sat next to him, feeling her cheeks still flushed.

"Mmmm smells like musty old wine and sex in here." Isabela stuck out her bottom lip in an impressive pout, "And I wasn't invited?"

Fenris gave Isabela a fierce look, "This had better be _very_ important."

"More important than you two broody lovebirds finally relieving years of sexual tension?" Isabela said as she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "I think not." She looked pleased with herself and let out a devious giggle. Isabela took a few strides toward a deep green armchair across from the dusty chaise they were sharing.

The ache Hawke had felt moments ago began to diminish, much to her own relief. She was a grown woman, yet felt the same embarrassment she had felt when her mother had caught her kissing a neighbor's farmhand back in Ferelden. Why did it have to be Isabela? She knew she would never hear the end of this. Hawke smoothed the lines of her robe, realizing that one side had been bunched up near her upper thigh. She moved to rearrange the fabric nonchalantly. She must have looked incredibly guilty, because when Fenris caught her eye, he let out a small chuckle.

Hawke decided to deflect the embarrassing attention toward her teasing companion. "He does glisten nicely when riled up, though, doesn't he Isabela?" She winked across the study at her, wickedly.

It was Fenris' turn to look uncomfortable. Isabela smiled, recognizing a play on one of her own past flirtations with the elf. Isabela growled a suggestive response and paused a moment before looking down. She fiddled with each boot strap, beginning from her foot to her upper leg on the right. She then tugged the boot snug around her thigh and reached down to begin on the left.

"Oh spit it out," Hawke said. Hawke knew that Isabela had never been comfortable asking for help. She looked up from her boots.

"It's Castillon," she confessed. "He's been spotted in Kirkwall." Isabela waited, looking between her and Fenris. When they didn't speak, she continued. "This is really my only chance to get him off my back. We need to take care of him tonight."

"Wait wait wait," Hawke began. "I thought we agreed never to use 'we' until all participants had expressly agreed to the job at hand."

Fenris smirked, placing his hand on her knee. The smoldering gaze he offered with the gesture had her ready to say 'to hell with Castillon.' She settled for placing her palm on the back of his hand and intertwining their fingers. So it hadn't been blind passion. He was going to stick around. This was going to take some getting used to.

"Please tell me that this-" Isabela paused to gesture toward their interlaced fingers, "is not going to be a normal thing."

Fenris kept his eyes locked on Hawke, completely ignoring Isabela. "If you want our help, I suggest you divulge the details."

"Otherwise, I can think of a few more exhilarating things to attend to," Hawke added.

"My my, such delicious innuendo," she licked her lips.

Isabela leaned against the back of the armchair and began her account of what she had heard from a couple of reliable contacts. Castillon was well protected and his exact location was unknown; however, his man Velasco had been spotted at the Blooming Rose. Once Isabela had relayed all of the important information regarding Castillon, she began prattling on about her last encounter with a feisty templar at the Blooming Rose.

Hawke took the opportunity to devise a strategy to deal with Castillon. They couldn't just go bumbling around Kirkwall searching for him. He would catch wind of them far before a confrontation could take place, but if…

"I've got a plan," Hawke interrupted suddenly.

**Danarius**

Danarius hated placing his hope on a few hirelings, but he knew well enough that nosing around Hightown himself would only set his quarry on alert. So he paced across the Orlesian rug in the empty study instead. His acquaintance, a magistrate by the name of Varnard, had offered a place to stay as long as they were in Kirkwall. This particular estate had remained empty for a few weeks. It had been used as a guest home for only the highest nobility fleeing the blight from the south. Later, it had served as a home for wealthy ambassadors visiting the Viscount. The estate had remained well-attended to. Varnard had even sent a few servants by to make sure he would be comfortable. The antique cherry wood furniture, intricate woven wall hangings, and beaded lamps were proof that it paid to be well-connected.

He imagined Fenris sitting warm in front of his own mansion's hearth, drinking his wine and celebrating his stolen freedom. The thought spoiled his peaceful moment. What an embarrassment his escape had been. Word had spread quickly throughout the wealthy circles of Minrathous that Danarius had allowed his prized lyrium warrior to escape. If he couldn't handle his own slaves, how could he handle the politics in the capital of the Imperium? He balled his hands into fists.

He couldn't even reclaim his own mansion. He had sent mercenary after mercenary to try to deal with his elf. He had set a dozen traps. He had lost hundreds and hundreds of gold pieces attempting to reclaim his lost property over the years. Now it was more than just getting back what belonged to him. His very pride hung on the hope of reclaiming him. He would not return to Tevinter without Fenris.

Fenris had been a symbol of his own status as a powerful magister. The unique energy given to the elf by his own hand was invaluable, both in cost and in the influence it had held over the other magisters in Tevinter. It had taken years of research into the delicate interaction between blood and lyrium before he dared to test in on anyone. Countless slaves had lost their lives during his experiments to get the formula correct. Some died from the shock of the pain, others from failed mixtures seeping into their blood, slowly poisoning them. One slave he'd had to kill because the poor boy could never master the art of phasing properly.

But Fenris… He had taken to the markings immediately. Danarius had ordered him to use his new power to kill a kitchen slave that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Danarius remembered the look of gratitude and pride Fenris had given him as he presented the girl's heart, palm up, for him to examine. His memories had just been completely wiped away and he had been so impressionable. Fenris had been chosen because of his skill with a sword and the incredible leverage Danarius held over he and his family. He had hoped that losing his memories would make Fenris more pliable to his will. Danarius had been pleasantly surprised with the outcome. Fenris would have done anything for his master. Until those bloody warriors of Seheron got their hands on him.

Two loud knocks at the door set him in motion. Danarius called for one of his guards to open the door as he peered over his shoulder.

"Greetings Magister! I did just as you asked, I found out where –" Danarius grabbed the boy at the collar, dragging him inside and locking the door.

"This," he raged at the cowering boy, "is a matter of _utmost _discretion! So shut your filthy mouth until you are behind closed doors. Am I understood?"

"Y-y-yes Ser… errr… Magister," the boy managed.

The frightened boy relaxed slightly as Danarius released his shirt. "Now, what did you discover, hmm?"

Minara and Varania slipped into the foyer after hearing the commotion. Minara crossed the tiled floor to stand by her husband.

"Hawke's manor is nearby, Messere. It is not a five minute walk from your very doorstep!" the boy said. He attempted a small bow of acknowledgement to the newcomers and his eyes flitted between the three of them nervously.

"Any scum taken off the streets would discover such a tidbit given the time you took!" Danarius fumed. "I do hope you have more to offer than that."

"Of course, Ser," the boy was dripping sweat from his forehead now. "I have it from a friend of one of her house servants, Orana, that the Champion walks her Mabari every day at dawn without fail; unless of course she is removed from the manor by duty, Magister."

Danarius cracked a smile at this. "Now this, young man, is a much more valuable a detail," Danarius pulled out a silver from his coin purse and placed it into the boy's calloused palm. "Now if you can describe the route she takes, you may double your coin."

"I know she passes through an alley in Lowtown, Messere, because that is where her house servant's friend works in a butcher's booth. It is this booth that she visits at sunrise to purchase a hunk of meat for her Mabari, before heading back in the same direction to her manor."

"Lead me to this spot tomorrow morning, and I will fill your pockets full to bursting, my dear boy," Danarius promised.


	5. Exploitation

**Fenris**

"Here's another one in the corner," Hawke exclaimed. She bent down to examine the spilled powder on the ground. He watched her lick her finger and dip it into the substance, testing it. Fenris stood silently behind her, taking her in. She was flushed and energized with the exertion of tracking Isabela. The moonlight played beautifully on her silky hair and he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it. He wondered how she would react if he requested a private word with her. He imagined taking her by the hand and pressing her against the wall of a back alley building, tasting her, feeling her warmth. Fenris tore his eyes from her backside. How incredibly weak she had made him. He knew the danger they were in at this very moment, yet he could not keep his thoughts on the task at hand. The docks were no place to let ones guard down, especially when tracking a man with a history like Castillon's.

Hawke looked up, evidently satisfied that this had been another piece of the trail Isabela had left. She gave a quick gesture for the others to follow, and the group was on their way at a vigorous pace.

As soon as Hawke was out of earshot, Anders moved to walk beside him. "You look at her as though she were a piece of meat, and you a hungry Mabari," Anders sneered.

"What concern is it of yours how I look at her?" Fenris snapped back.

"I just don't want to see her hurt," Anders said. "Again."

"Leave it be, mage. She has made her choice."

"You_ know_ she deserves better." Anders replied before quickening his pace, not allowing Fenris time to respond. Anders' words stunned him with their veracity. He had contemplated this same truth thousands of times over. She did deserve better. He tried prying his conscious thoughts away from the regret of leaving her and the jealousy he'd had for Anders. The look of fear on her face when she realized he was leaving was a memory he wished could be wiped away. He wondered if he would ever forget it. Fenris forced himself to don a neutral expression as he moved to catch up to Hawke. He wouldn't give Anders the pleasure of knowing his words had affected him.

Hawke stopped suddenly in front of a warehouse on the east side of the docks. "This is it," she said, putting her had up to halt the party.

A powdery handprint was left on the outside of the wooden door. The trail had been a part of Hawke's plan. First they turned Isabela over to Castillon's man, Velasco at the Blooming Rose. Hawke had known Velasco would bring her straight to Castillon. All that was left was to follow them to where Castillon was hiding in the city. Hawke had given Isabela a pouch of lyrium powder to leave a trail with. Hawke had a sensitivity to lyrium. She could feel the substance, even without seeing it, which made Isabela easy to track. They had trailed her from Hightown, down the darkest alleys of Lowtown, and now to the Docks.

Fenris entered the warehouse first and scanned the empty storeroom. Hawke began immediately rummaging through an old crate in the corner he had not even seen. Anders rolled his eyes at Hawke, "Less scavenging and more rescuing please."

"Don't start Anders," she continued rifling through the crate, never looking up at them. "I found the robes I'm wearing in an old empty chest on the Wounded Coast, remember?"

Anders gave a wry smile. "Yes, but that was before you had enough coin to buy robes spun from the hair of Andraste herself."

"Think I have enough coin to pay you to keep your trapdoor shut for good?" she quipped.

"I would be willing to match your coin for such a cause," Fenris added.

The two of them laughed, keeping their hands over their mouths to stifle the sound. Anders tried keeping a serious look, but it faded as soon as Hawke gave him her biggest grin. Fenris despised the possessed mage, but had come to understand that in matters where Hawke was concerned, Anders could be trusted. He would never purposely do harm to her. Hawke trusted Anders, so he resigned to leave the mage alone as much as possible.

They wandered through a few twisting corridors until they reached one that spilled onto a moonlit overhang. A wrought iron fence bordered the ledge, with a staircase leading down to the ground level. Fenris heard voices as they approached.

"Why don't we work something out," a man's voice said below. "If you're good, I'll tell Castillon to go easy on you."

The party crept slowly into the open, viewing the scene below. Velasco stood with his back to them, while Isabela faced their direction.

"Contrary to popular belief, even I have standards," Isabela said.

"You're going to do whatever I want. I own you."

"You sure about that?" Isabela said as she looked up at her companions on the balcony.

Fenris felt his markings begin to tingle as his pulse accelerated. He closed his eyes to relish the sensation, gaining control over it.

Velasco turned to them. "You! I knew the bitch was up to something! Kill them!" he yelled to his men.

Fenris was the first to move. He vaulted down the stairs, unsheathing his blade as he charged toward his first target. The assassin was taken by surprise by this show of speed. Fenris could count on this maneuver to help him gain advantage by pushing his opponents off center before contact was ever made. The tactic worked again, flawlessly. Before the rogue could plant his feet for an initial blow, Fenris had begun a wide arc with his sword that ended in a ferocious gash to the man's shoulder. Drops of scarlet showered onto a warrior who had leapt into the fray. The first man fell, as Fenris, in a graceful counter, whirled his sword in the other direction. This time he dealt his opponent just a glancing blow. The warrior was nearly a head taller than Fenris and wore heavy armor, but he was much slower. The human began a cleaving blow to what would have been Fenris' neck, had he remained in place. Instead, he strafed just out of reach of the man's axe, hooked his arm around his neck and gave a vicious twist. The burly raider dropped to the ground in a heap.

Fenris glanced back at Hawke. She was standing halfway up the stairs, a hard mask of concentration on her face. Magic arced from her fingertips and around her staff as she sent spell after spell toward an assassin that had trained his blades on Isabela. He surveyed the battlefield, numbering the remaining assailants. He thought he had counted another archer, and there had been Velasco to deal with as well. Fenris scanned near the back of the open loading dock, finding the archer he had missed. He had his bow aimed directly at Hawke. Fenris grabbed a small shiv he kept tucked in a pouch at his waist and flung it with wicked accuracy at the archer. The knife hit its mark and the archer reeled back, attempting to dislodge it from his thigh.

Suddenly, Fenris was falling. He looked up from his back, dodging a second blow to the head.

Velasco.

He had been so concerned with how Hawke was faring, he hadn't seen him come from behind. That was a foolish mistake.

"Vae te, scelesta," he cursed, trying to get to his feet.

Velasco managed to land a blow to his abdomen, knocking the breath from him. He was on the ground again. Another kick, this time to his jaw and blood was oozing from his mouth. Warm rust and salt on his lips, he spat another swear in Tevinter, this time at himself.

_Never lose track of a warrior on the battlefield_.

The Fog Warriors of Seheron would have scoffed at this momentary lapse of judgment. He could not afford to make that mistake again. Fenris let the lyrium pulse through him, gaining control over it, and sent a wave of energy toward the man standing over him. Velasco saw it coming and dodged the spirit blast. A fire spell sent from the other side of the warehouse, however, landed squarely in the man's chest. This caused Velasco to hesitate just long enough to allow Fenris to regain his footing. He shot a quick look back to Hawke, who was giving him the 'you're welcome' smile.

Hawke turned to finish off the assassin, while Fenris began ripping at Velasco with his blade. He managed a few blows to the man's left shouder, ignoring the blood dripping from his own head and down his neck. Velasco started to tire, his movements becoming cruder as the battle wore on. The familiar tingle of a healing spell poured over his wounded skull. It was about time. Fenris wondered why Anders even bothered. He was obviously the mage's last thought on the battle field. This was definitely the drawback of being on the healer's bad side.

Over Velasco's shoulder, Isabela was holding her own against the last archer who was still losing blood from his wounded thigh. Fenris turned his attention back to Velasco, who had just taken a cold spell to the chest, courtesy of Hawke. The impact paired with the slowing effect of the spell caused him to drop his weapon. Fenris felt the buzz of lyrium over his skin and he allowed it to ebb and flow. Closing his eyes briefly, Fenris compelled the pulsating magic to focus around his right arm. He then thrust his phased limb through Velasco's chest, quickly letting the point of energy in his arm spread out again. As he did so, his arm materialized in the man's chest cavity, ripping through flesh. Fenris gave the man's heart a twist and retracted his arm, bloodied. Velasco slumped onto the ground with a look of shock still chiseled onto his features.

**Hawke**

The sky lightened to a deep blue and the streets of Hightown were silent. Anders had returned to his clinic, and Isabela to the Hanged Man. She dragged herself home next to Fenris, who looked equally disheveled. He had a nasty bruise forming at his jawline and a gash on his bottom lip. The pair remained silent as they approached her estate together. Hawke was pleased with the events of the last few days. Fenris was free, and now Isabela.

Once Velasco was dead, they had decided to explore the warehouse while they waited for Castillon to arrive. Isabela unearthed some documents in an old chest that implicated the Antivan merchant in a ring of slave trading in Kirkwall. Isabela used this as leverage to get him out of the city forever, and managed to take charge of his ship as well. She was a captain again and relieved to be rid of the shadow of Castillon. They were all too drained to celebrate, so they had agreed to meet the following evening at The Hanged Man. Drinks would be on Isabela.

With the adrenaline of battle long worn off, Hawke felt the weight of her weariness tugging at heavy eyelids.

It was Fenris who broke their exhausted silence first. "I knew you would be the death of me. Festis bei umo canavarum_._"

"The death of _you_? Now I don't know what battle you were watching tonight, but I explicitly recall saving your ass twice," she replied, playfully bumping into him as they trudged to her door.

He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her toward him suddenly. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"You make me weak," he growled into her neck.

The sound of his rasping lower register made the hair on her neck rise. A pleasurable shiver rocked her as she tried to recover from this unexpected confession. She traced a line from the neck of his armor up, following the threads of lyrium that crossed his chin. She stopped at his bloodied bottom lip and kissed two fingers, pressing them lightly to his wound. She chanted an incantation. Magic glowed on her fingertips as she watched the gash come together in a neat pinkish seam.

"I'm proud," Hawke smirked. "You didn't even flinch this time."

Fenris responded by pulling her closer. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "I will meet you in an hour."

She felt a rush of heat at her core. She wasn't sure she could wait an hour.

"Why?" was all she could manage.

"Because I asked you to."

He laced his fingers into her hair and pulled her into his kiss. He tasted of blood and spices, and the tingling of her magic. She responded greedily, hands roving under his armor, feeling the lean muscles of his back. Then he was pushing away from her. With some distance between them he pulled one of her hands to his chest. "An hour," he said, planting a tender kiss on the inside of her palm.

She watched him turn and walk away in the direction of his mansion. Hawke had no idea what he could need an hour for, but she knew once he made a decision it would be wasted breath to try to convince him otherwise. She pushed unwanted memories of past events from her mind as she unlocked the door to her estate. Dog was waiting at the door to greet her, his own leash held in his jaws.

She had felt a little guilty about never giving her Mabari a proper name. Mother had suggested dozens of names, but by the time Hawke got around to choosing one, he had been just 'Dog.' So she kept it at that. She had completely forgotten about his morning walk. She had taken the Mabari to a butcher's booth in Lowtown every morning at dawn for a scrap of meat. She had held this tradition since she had moved to Kirkwall. If she neglected the task, Dog would persist for the rest of the day. She was exhausted, but she would be in worse shape later if she didn't stick to their routine.

"You're in luck, Dog!" she said, bending to scratch behind his ear. "Fenris said he'd be back in an hour."

She fastened the leash to Dog's collar and he immediately led the way, leaving no slack on the leash. Hawke struggled to keep up. They made their way past the darkened windows of Hightown. The click of Dog's toenails against the cobblestones was the only sound that registered this early in the morning. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, but the sky was turning a lighter shade of purple in the east. It was now bright enough to see the path before them as they descended into Lowtown.

Halfway through the alley leading to their familiar butcher's booth, Dog stopped dead in his tracks. He sniffed over his shoulder and whimpered to Hawke. She passed the Mabari, urging him forward with a gentle tug. When he refused to move she turned back to put more weight into it.

A sudden searing pain tore through her chest. Dog whined. Loud buzzing, fog, a robed figure, and a cold descent.


	6. A Message

**Danarius**

"Here we are in yet another hovel, all on account of a disobedient _slave_," Minara hissed.

Danarius didn't bother looking up from his calculations. "We will be on our way to the port of Hercinia soon enough."

"Hercinia? I thought we were heading straight back to Minrathous!"

"We were, my dear, but plans change. I have need of the services of Senecus. He was a Magister of the Imperium at one time, and remains a good friend."

Danarius had known Magister Senecus before he dissolved most of his ties in Tevinter. He became disillusioned with the politics, and settled in the Free Marches years ago. Senecus was an imaginative mage, whose formulas he had built upon when branding Fenris with the lyrium markings. Senecus had utilized magic in ways the Circle Magi only dreamed of.

He heard Minara sigh softly. He knew it as her sign of acquiescence. She would follow where he lead her. She was a beautiful woman and a talented healer, but lacked the strength of will to command others. He loved her for it. She would support him wholeheartedly in this, as she did in everything.

Danarius scratched a line through his last group of figures, still not satisfied he had found his mistake. He needed Senecus's help to work out the numbers. He would need the formula to be perfect if he was to complete the ritual again, especially since the equations would need to be altered. This would be Fenris's second time, so dosage would have to be modified. Too little and it wouldn't work, too much and he would die immediately. He supposed he could wait until they were back in Tevinter and send a messenger to Senecus requesting his help, but he didn't want to risk it. Fenris was much stronger now, making the procedure a high priority.

His eyes started to ache with the fatigue of focusing on one task for hours. It was late morning, but he'd had an early day. Luckily The Champion hadn't put up much of a fight. In fact, he had wondered what the fuss over the woman was all about. All it had taken was one well-placed cold spell to her chest, and she had slumped to the dusty earth, unconscious. It was her Mabari that put up the real fight. The animal had viciously charged one of his guards, and mauled his left side. The man would have lost use of his left hand without immediate healing. Once they had executed the Mabari, they secured The Champion's hands and feet with no further complication.

She had stirred briefly about an hour ago and they had gagged her. She sat in the corner now, bound to a chair with ropes and magic. Varania was charged to watch over the Champion. The elf, despite her cowardice during the confrontation with Fenris, had played her part, thus earning an apprenticeship. Her reaction had been expected; Fenris was her brother after all. Danarius, however, would not discuss Varania's standing until they returned to Minrathous. Varania had been putting forth quite an effort to rebuild their trust since the incident. He rather liked her newly invigorated obedience and intended to use it to his advantage.

"When do you think Fenris will receive the message?" Minara asked.

"I expect our courier has already delivered it."

"Good. I grow weary of living in places like this," she gestured toward the soiled walls, stained and stinking of urine.

"A small sacrifice to be made for more resplendent lodgings to come."

They would call this foul space their quarters until Fenris came to surrender himself in return for his Champion's life. Necessity dictated they remain close to the docks and out of sight of prying eyes. Then the plan would be to leave Kirkwall with Fenris. Danarius had ordered the group of mercenaries to release The Champion hours after their departure. He wasn't sure if The Champion would leave Fenris be, not wanting to risk his life, or if she would attempt a hasty rescue. He did not aim to find out. His ship was ready to depart for Hercinia, and no one knew of their destination save for himself, Minara, and their apprentice. By the time The Champion was free, he would be long gone with no trail to follow. He would have liked to simply be rid of her, but she had far too many supporters in the city.

"Are you sure we have hired enough men this time? I would hate for that elf to stir up sympathy for The Champion and organize some display of heroism."

"He will not dare," soothed Danarius, turning finally to Minara. "He will have no choice but to submit."

He had in fact hired more than a dozen mercenaries to protect them, should Fenris try something rash. He had also hired four more slavers to track Fenris, and report if he moved in close. This plan would be successful. He had done everything in his power to assure it.

He saw the woman move slightly then, out of the corner of his eye. The Champion lifted her head and turned toward Varania. She jolted forward, the chair moving with her. The Champion tried what sounded like an accusation, but her voice was muffled by the gag in her mouth. Varania took a step back.

"Well, rise and shine, Champion." Danarius's voice dripped with malice. "I trust you are well this morning?" He walked to where she sat bound in the corner, and turned her chair to face the center of the room.

Danarius reached out with his mind, tapping into his own life energy to fuel the reach of the magic. His tendrils of influence spun themselves around The Champion. When he was sure she was completely under his authority, he removed the gag.

"Where is Fenris?" Danarius asked coolly.

The Champion replied with an empty, lifeless cadence. "He was to meet me at my estate just after dawn."

"To what end?"

"To make love," she replied, a void still behind her eyes.

So they _were _intimate together. Danarius knew that if this was the case, Fenris's surrender was all but certain. Fenris, once placing trust in another, had always been loyal to a fault. That was why he had been an invaluable bodyguard. That was why he would sacrifice himself for his Champion.

Danarius looked at Minara, smiling wickedly. "You see my love? All we need is to pull the right strings and the puppet will follow obediently once again." Danarius let out a playful mock-sigh. "Just like old times."

Danarius gestured for Varania to gag the Champion again as he allowed the magic's influence around her to disperse. With the success of this endeavor all but guaranteed, he turned his thoughts back to his calculations.

**Fenris**

He had walked back to his manor, to hers again, to The Hanged Man, Gamlen's, Merril's, and now back to Hawke's estate for a third time. Where had she gone? Why had she left? Had the look of affection in her eyes been nothing more than a reflection of his own feelings for her? His muscles ached and his eyes stung with fatigue. The sun was nearing its highest point in the sky as he entered Hawke's front door. He didn't bother knocking.

"Messere Fenris, what brings you-"

Fenris cut him off mid-sentence. "Bodahn, where is she?" He leaned in toward the dwarf as if he could intimidate his way to a different response.

"I'm sorry Messere, but as I told you this morning, she was gone with the Mabari for her morning walk when I awoke. I have heard nothing from her since," the dwarven house servant managed. He had taken a step back to avoid being too close to the angry elf.

"Enchantment?" Sandal offered.

Fenris laced his fingers through his hair and rested a hand on his forehead, utterly frustrated. Varric and Isabela had told him to relax, that she had probably just taken a longer walk to work through the events of the last few days. Merril seemed concerned but had suggested waiting until the afternoon to search for her. She thought she probably just needed some time. No one had answered the door at Gamlen's and he had yet to check at Anders's clinic. The last thing he needed was to hear what the abomination had to say about where Hawke had gone, but he had no choice. He needed to hear if she had visited the mage.

Each footfall on the way to Darktown felt like it had been made in thick mud. His feet were heavy, weighted, and yet he somehow made good time. His eyes searched desperately, yet he saw nothing of his surroundings. His mind was racing, yet he seemed incapable of a single competent thought. When Fenris stumbled into Anders's clinic, he must have looked like a blood mage's raised corpse, for Anders's reaction was one of genuine concern.

"Fenris? What's going on? Are you ill?"

"It's… it's Hawke," he managed, haltingly.

"What happened?" Anders cried, "Is she alright?"

"I don't know, but I am concerned. Did she come to you this morning?"

"I haven't seen her since I left the two of you last night," Anders replied.

Satisfied that Anders had no part in her disappearance, Fenris turned to leave, already planning his next move. Anders reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder forcefully.

"Remove your hand, mage," Fenris hissed.

"You cannot drag yourself into my clinic, tell me you are worried about Hawke, and then expect me to do nothing! You are not the only person who cares for her," Anders replied heatedly, taking a step to square himself to Fenris's chest.

Fenris felt a surge of power radiate just under his skin, moving through his lyrium markings to the rhythm of his pulse. Anders took a step back after seeing the glow beginning to radiate from the elf. Fenris inhaled deeply, desperately trying to control his anger toward the apostate. He wanted nothing more than to push his fist through the human's vital organs, just not under these circumstances. Fenris looked away, collecting his thoughts.

"We parted ways just before dawn. I went back to my manor to retrieve something. I told her I would return in an hour."

He turned in time to see Anders ball his fists, a flash of anger in his eyes. Or was it jealousy? Fenris relished his effect on the mage momentarily, until thoughts of their petty rivalry were blackened by the gravity of the situation. It didn't matter now. One of two things may have happened. Either Hawke left or she was taken by force, both of which were terrifying prospects for Fenris. If she had chosen to leave and had not yet returned, maybe she hadn't forgiven him. Maybe she wasn't sure of her feelings, or maybe she thought he wasn't ready. However, if she had been taken by force, he had no leads. He had no idea who would want her or why. She was well-loved in the city, but could have easily made enemies along the way.

Anders had recovered a neutral tone and managed to reply flatly, "And she was gone when you arrived."

"Yes. When I returned to her estate, she and her Mabari were not there."

"And Bodahn, maybe he-"

"Saw nothing," Fenris finished.

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, before Anders spoke.

"Why did you really leave?" He let each word hang a little too long.

"I… " Fenris began.

The truth was he'd had something planned for Hawke. He'd had a gift for her that he'd almost given dozens of times. He'd tried presenting it to her for months. It had finally seemed like the right time. He needed to let her have it to prove something to himself. Selfish. Looking back, he couldn't imagine a worse time. He should have taken her in his arms right then. He would be warm in her bed now, sated, and she would be safe by his side. Guilt washed over him, causing him to avert his eyes.

"I needed to attend to something," he said.

"You just couldn't be with her. You can't stop hating yourself long enough to make her happy, can you?" Anders accused.

Fenris nearly lost himself then. He lunged at the mage, attempting a blow to his jaw, but was met by a protective wall of magic instead. He was forced back a few feet, struggling to control a burning heat behind his eyes. He had not cried for years, and the strange sensation startled him. He left the clinic without a word, his mind a mist of burning uncontrolled emotion that he had no hope of burying.

Fenris fought back the tide of guilt and worry, not seeing or hearing anything until he reached his mansion. He raged against the first piece of furniture he saw, grabbing the entry table and smashing it against the wall. A small cushioned chair was next. Fenris flung it by the leg at the opposing wall, watching the satisfying explosion of wood and splinters erupt upon impact. A portrait in a wooden frame was a heap of slivers on the marble tile before he was aware of what he was doing. He collapsed to the floor, his head in his hands, winded from the exertion.

He remained there motionless. Fenris was not aware of time passing until two knocks came at the door. He considered ignoring them, but his heart quickened.

Hawke.

He jumped to the door.

"Messere Fenris, I have come to deliver a message," an unfamiliar bearded man announced.

Fenris nearly closed the door on him until he added, "It's about The Champion."

Fenris grabbed the man roughly by the shoulders, "Where is she?" he demanded.

"Please Messere," the pained man begged.

Fenris released his hold slightly, allowing him to continue.

"Danarius has ordered me to deliver this message."

No. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. This was a lie. Danarius was dead by his own hand.

"Lies," Fenris growled.

"Danarius knew you would say that and told me to present this." The messenger unfurled a scroll of paper. The man began to read it out loud as he had probably been ordered. Fenris had not learned to read while in the service of his old master. Fenris snatched the parchment. Although his reading was slow and labored, for he had only learned with the help of Hawke, he was able to make out the main points. Hawke had been taken to an empty storeroom at the docks. This man was to lead him there, alone. The message warned that he was being watched, even now. If he refused to cooperate, Hawke would be executed. If he surrendered, Hawke would be released. There was no doubt that this had been penned by his former master; he recognized the delicate script and Danarius's personal seal on the bottom.

"Read it to me," Fenris ordered. He wanted to be sure he hadn't missed a single detail.

When the messenger was finished, Fenris stared blankly at the scroll, hearing the words of _Asha'bellanar _echoing all around him, again and again.

_The chains are broken, but are you truly free?_


	7. The Kiss

**Fenris**

There was no need to think about the decision. As soon as he had fumbled for the meaning of the words on the parchment, he knew what he had to do. Fenris had allowed the one person he respected most to become entangled in the cruel web that was his past. Hawke could not be the one to pay his debt. Anders was right, she did deserve better.

One thing gnawed at him as he prepared to tell the messenger he would meet Danarius. How had he lived? Could the Magister have healed himself? Did he have help? He remembered pulsing lyrium and Danarius's blood on the floor, but he had been so distracted with Varania and with the adrenaline of finally confronting Danarius, that he couldn't remember exactly _how _he'd dealt the final blow. Maybe he never had.

_Na via lerno Victoria_

Only the living know victory. Danarius was among the living and now he was close to the victory he'd been after for years. He didn't want to believe that Danarius had finally made the winning move. The Magister had somehow lived, and now he held the only thing Fenris valued more than his own life. Danarius probably deserved the victory over him. Fenris had failed himself and worst of all, Hawke. He needed to ready himself for the shameful march to the Docks.

"I will come, but I need a moment. Wait here," he told the messenger.

Fenris took a small book from the pouch at his hip and walked to his writing desk. He put quill to paper and slowly, deliberately scratched something into the inside cover of the little tome. He ran his fingers slowly over the message, as if sealing its meaning into the pages. Fenris checked the scarlet sash on his wrist, giving it a gentle tug to secure it, and he was moving toward the door.

"Danarius requested that you be disarmed before we leave," the messenger said when he emerged from the estate.

Fenris squinted in the light of midday. "Of course," he said gruffly. He unsheathed the blade he carried at his back and handed it to the man, who nearly buckled under its weight.

"Maybe we should just leave it here," he offered with slight embarrassment.

Fenris took the sword and leaned it against the front door of the estate.

"Danarius mentioned you keep a dagger at your waist as well."

Fenris gave the man a vicious stare, but complied, handing him the weapon. He felt wrong, uneven, exposed. He'd carried a blade with him at every waking moment since he could remember. The two men did not speak as they began their deliberate walk to The Docks. Fenris took in the architecture of Hightown one last time. How strange it felt to know it was the last time he would look on the neat cobblestones beneath his bare feet. He would miss the midnight walks. He had learned to deal with the pain of a past he couldn't remember while pacing these streets. He'd worked through the new feelings Hawke had stirred in him by walking. How ironic that he was walking to put an end to all of it now.

As they passed into Lowtown, the familiar, but strangely comforting smell of sewage greeted him. It was comforting because it was predictable. The merchant booths, the commoners squabbling outside of The Hanged Man, the drunk and downtrodden, they were all a part of Lowtown. This was where he had met her.

He had not been floored by her beauty or filled with lust by her figure. Instead, he was surprised by her kindness to a stranger, to himself. She had never reeled back in shock at his strange appearance as many others had. She had not asked for coin in return for her assistance with his initial search for Danarius. Her warmth and wit drew him to her. Her beauty grew from the inside and then radiated from her. It swelled until now it had reached the point where he could think of little else. He was ashamed now of his initial reaction to her being a mage. To think that he'd almost turned her away then.

Fenris refused to see her kindness spoiled by his depraved old master. What vile things Danarius was doing to Hawke this very moment, he could not imagine. He pushed the thought away. Perhaps Danarius would receive no pleasure from torturing a fellow mage. Besides, this had always been about reclaiming his prized pet. He hoped it had nothing to do with Hawke.

The courier slowed once he reached The Docks. His eyes searched the doors of the empty warehouses. He motioned to one just off to the left, set back a ways from the others at the waterfront. Fenris took a deep breath as the man knocked on the door.

**Varania**

The small storehouse had become very crowded in the last couple of minutes. With the arrival of the mercenaries hired to keep her brother from killing them all, standing room was scarce. They had moved The Champion to a side room to keep them separated upon Leto's immediate arrival. Danarius was pacing just behind the front door. A strange energy was almost palpable in the air around her. Leto was on his way and Danarius was obviously eager to see his plot unfold.

The Champion had been gagged in the corner for hours, but had been wise enough to stop her struggle with the onset of the commotion. Varania could not look into her eyes. This mage had been the one who convinced Leto to let her live. Looking back, she owed The Champion her life. It was obvious she cared about her brother. She was surprised by how much he was willing to give up for this woman, for he had his freedom now, and Varania couldn't imagine him giving it up for just anyone.

Two knocks on the door had everyone hushed in an instant. The mercenaries closed around Danarius, ready to protect their charge. The Magister straightened, and opened the door. A stout man that Varania did not recognize entered first followed by Leto. His eyes were lowered, his shoulders hunched. No spark of defiance behind his green eyes. Without The Champion fighting by his side, he looked utterly empty. He looked beaten.

"How nice of you to join us my little Fenris," Danarius said in the honey-dripping voice that made her skin crawl.

"Where is she, Danarius?" he said softly.

"Now now, my pet. That won't do at all. You must address me properly and then we shall discuss the terms of our trade," he responded.

Varania watched her brother intently as he slumped his shoulders in submission. He lowered his head and spoke the words she thought him incapable of.

"Of course," he exhaled audibly as if forcing the words to trail his breath, "Master."

Danarius clasped his hands together in front of him in a mocking gesture of joy. "That is more like it." Varania knew that, despite Danarius's outward display of conquest, he would not claim victory until they were out of Kirkwall.

Leto's eyes had not left his own feet. She wondered what it must feel like to have freedom and love taken from you in less than a day. She felt a strange ache for her brother, but pushed it aside. He had abandoned them and she'd had to fend for herself and Mother. So she would fend for herself this day.

"So, have you decided to submit yourself to me in return for the life of your Champion?" Danarius asked, bending the last word venomously.

"I will do as you ask from this day forward," Leto said, his eyes unwavering from their fixed gaze on the floorboards. "But before I do, I need a moment alone with Hawke and your word that she will be unharmed,"

"You understand that after our last unfortunate encounter, I cannot trust the two of you together," he said, showing a crack of nervousness in his cool demeanor.

"Then let someone stand guard, it does not matter. You may bind me if it pleases you."

"No need for chains." The Magister waved a hand indicating an air of indifference. "Your sister will watch to ensure no plans are shared, but I would not hinder your farewell." Varania knew it was all a show. Perhaps Danarius thought it would be more painful for Leto to say goodbye than to just lead him off now. She thought better of it. No, the Magister was cunning. He would use Leto's compassion for the Champion to twist him to his will, not solely to cause him pain. If her brother saw The Champion alive and well, then the affection that drove him to surrender would remain strong, long enough to keep him compliant. "You have five minutes, then we depart."

Leto rushed to the back room straight to The Champion who had her back to the door. Varania followed.

"Close the door and let them have their privacy, Varania," the Magister said. Varania knew he wanted to talk to Minara alone and that it had nothing to do with the privacy of the two captives. She did as she was ordered, after stepping into the small room with Leto and The Champion. Her brother removed the gag from The Champion's mouth and struggled to untie the ropes that secured her hands behind her to the chair.

"Fenris, you shouldn't have come. Especially when-" The Champion began.

Leto put one finger over her lips, tenderly, then went back to work on the ropes. "This is my debt to pay, not yours." When the ropes dropped to the floor, she remained immobile due to the binding spell around her wrists. Danarius had also thought to cast a silencing spell on her, so although the Champion could speak, she was unable to perform magic under the effect. Varania heard Leto curse in Tevinter under his breath, still trying to get around the spell.

She averted his gaze, until he spoke. "Varania, please perform a counterspell. Hawke will not run," he assured. It was the first time they had spoken since their encounter at The Hanged Man when he'd almost killed her. She wondered if she would have reacted differently if it had been him backstabbing her.

Leto gave her a desperate look which she tried to ignore. She could be punished for this. She shook her head. She knew she could not be so cold to him again. It would be harmless to allow them this moment together. Maker help her. Varania allowed the energy in her life blood to churn around her fingertips. When she felt the energy peak, she funneled it into Danarius's barrier. Suddenly the Champion's wrists were free and she stood up, flinging her arms around Leto.

She pretended to give them their privacy, looking away toward the other wall, but she couldn't help but watch from the corner of her eye. Her interest was piqued by this tenderness in her brother. They embraced and Leto brushed a strand of blood-stained hair from The Champion's eye. She had an ugly gash above her left eyebrow from one of her struggles with Danarius. She watched her brother tenderly trace the lines of the woman's lips, the curve of her cheek, her neck and shoulder. He had never shown this level of compassion for a human being. She'd only seen this softness directed to Mother or herself years ago, but still, this kindness was different. There was gentle warmth, but there was also passion. Her brother was truly in love.

"Don't tell me you will submit to him, Fenris. I cannot allow that," Hawke commanded.

"There is no other choice," he replied softly.

"I will not live to see you a slave. We could-"

Leto interrupted her, pressing his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss that left Varania rather uncomfortable to be in the same room. She looked away, a familiar sensation washing over her again. Guilt. Leto had found contentment only to lose it like this. She should have been happy for him; she should have just left him alone. Instead, she'd come back to help her brother's old master enslave him a second time. Now she watched as he was torn from the woman he loved. For what? For a chance at being a Magister? Varania had never felt guilt like this and wasn't sure she could live with it, but the die had been cast.

When she glanced back at the couple, Leto was looking into his Champion's eyes, one hand cupping her cheek. She was crying. She watched her brother wipe a tear away with his thumb, looking close to breaking himself.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"You have such amazing timing," The Champion said, with a half smile and tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Leto pulled a small book from a pouch at his side and presented it to her. The tome was leather bound and looked ancient. She took it gently, thumbing through the fragile pages carefully.

"Tevinter," Hawke said, a creeping sadness in her voice. "What is it about?"

"With your help I was able to rediscover some of these poems and memories of them began to return. I think my mother used to recite some of them. It is a book of well-known Tevinter love poetry," he admitted. Varania noticed some color come to her brother's cheeks and he looked at his feet.

"Fenris," The Champion said, pushing his chin up so he would meet her eyes, "Thank you."

Varania watched as their lips met again. If a kiss could look sad, this one carried the weight of all of the world's injustices. It was slow and hungry and Varania was crushed beneath the weight of it. Leto whispered to her, "I am yours, Marian." She buried her face between his neck and shoulder, pulling him closer.

Then, it was over and Danarius was there, ordering his men to bind The Champion again. Their clasped hands were pulled apart and Varania heard her cry out his name. Leto looked at his Champion, appearing to see no one else, as he allowed himself to be dragged from the room.


	8. The Plunge

**Varania**

Danarius and Minara led the way across the ramp onto the deck of _Andoral's Mercy_. Leto stalked just behind, shoulders stooped, eyes on the back of their legs. The party consisted of the four of them and several guards, two of which were Tevinter and four that Danarius had hired in Kirkwall. There were Tevinter slaves and sailors on the ship that had made the voyage with them, as well. The guards remained on deck as Varania followed the others down the wooden steps into the cabin below at the stern of the ship.

The space was luxurious for such a small vessel. A large writing desk stood near the far wall with a finely-stitched tapestry hung just behind it. Ornate brass candelabras adorned the other paneled walls creating a warm glow, even with the daylight peering in through the windows. Danarius removed his papers, inks, quills, and spellbooks from his satchel and placed them on the desk. He unfurled a map, keeping the ends from curling by weighting them down with books, and ran his finger across the pictured sea. He jabbed at a point along the coast, his light gray eyes gleaming.

"Hercinia," he said, pulling his wife to him by the hip.

"I hope the business there can be completed with haste," Minara replied, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"Senecus is not the type to dawdle when there are pressing concerns to attend to." He placed a kiss on Minara's cheek. It reminded her of the way you would kiss a child before sending her off on an errand. They were so rigid as if someone had written their lines for them. She never saw true affection between the two mages; it was always distant, cold. Honeyed words masking empty hearts, for theirs had been a marriage of convenience and a pooling of power.

Danarius glanced at Leto, who was fiddling with the red piece of cloth around his wrist again, staring out the window of the cabin.

"We really need to get you cleaned up, Fenris. You look a mess, and you smell worse," Danarius remarked. "And what is that rag you have there?"

Leto let his hands fall to his sides, but did not respond.

"Have you forgotten your manners, slave? You will answer to your master," he threatened, his voice like splinters under Varania's skin.

"It is nothing."

"Give it to me," Danarius commanded.

Varania watched as an unusual struggle played upon Leto's features. His eyes widened. Then he checked himself, a facade of calm replacing the initial shock. He fumbled clumsily with the cloth as if moving to untie it, then stopped suddenly. He knitted his brows, his eyes saddened, and then the expression was gone again. He remained unmoving. She wondered why he was taking so long.

It had been several years since her brother had endured Danarius's impatience and she knew what was coming before Leto did. A blast of blue-green light swelled toward him, pushing him back into the wall of the cabin. The trails of lyrium on his body surged with the energy and he released a muffled cry. The clawed fingers of his gauntlets pulled at the walls, scoring the wood paneling as he attempted to keep from crying out. It had been Danarius's personal form of torture for her brother since the ritual. Activating the lyrium under his skin always ensured he remained the most attentive bodyguard in the Imperium. Varania looked away, sickened by the display. A few more painful gasps and flashes of light on the wall and Danarius was satisfied.

"Give it to me," Danarius demanded, his voice ripping through the silence. "You will let go of your ties here, Fenris. Including the one around your wrist."

Leto hesitated again a moment too long, still looking conflicted, and Varania flinched as Danarius readied another wave of torment. She plastered her gaze on the planks below her feet. The cabin lit up again with the onslaught.

"There is no need for this to continue, my pet. Just give it to me," Danarius finally said.

"Yes, Master" Leto managed, his eyes squeezed tight. His limbs trembled as he struggled to regain his footing. He groped for the fabric, pulling it free and holding it out, his hand still shaking from the cruelty.

Danarius snatched it, glowering down at him. He held the fabric to his scrunched nose and gave it a sniff. He pulled back, holding it as one would hold a dead animal. "It smells of urine and bad fish."

Leto stared straight ahead, not reacting to the display. Only a small twitch of his lower lip gave away what was left of his emotion. Watching the fight leave her brother was harder to watch than the torture itself. The void behind his green eyes grew until she saw no life there. She felt the guilt begin to tear a hole in her resolve.

"Give me that filthy crest you wear at your waist as well."

Leto complied, wrestling with the crest attached to his armor. Danarius had not wasted any time stripping him of his life here. Soon, he would not even have his memories to cling to. Fenris pressed the item into his master's palm.

"Now Fenris, I will need you at my side as usual as we prepare to depart. Meet me on deck."

Fenris dragged himself up the stairs. When he was out of sight, Danarius stashed the two items in a wooden chest and turned toward the door as well. Minara followed and Varania was left below, trying to make sense of the brutal scene she had just witnessed.

Leto's eyes had looked completely devoid of life. So passionate a few hours ago, now empty. It wasn't fair... yet, he had abandoned her and Mother, and that wasn't fair either. She had been left to fend for the two of them, wondering if her brother would ever come back. She was free only in name, for she still toiled for power hungry magisters and was left unable to pursue her own interests. She had given up on Leto completely.

It was easier to think of things that way, but now she had learned more. Maybe he really had been forced to forget about them. Danarius had spoken of erasing Leto's memories and it was believable. He could achieve the ultimate obedience that way. The sick feeling in her gut was back.

She walked to the chest on the far side of the cabin and removed the crimson sash that her brother had tried to protect. She twined it around her fingers one by one, then wound it back the other direction. Varania tied the cloth around her wrist and then turned her arm to look at it from all sides. To love someone so much you would risk torture to hold onto a scrap of a memory.

Varania had been in love only once. He had been a kitchen servant at her old master's estate. A handsome, dark-haired elf, he had been punished for a meal the Mistress couldn't palate, and was probably sold. She never saw him again. Varania shook her head. She could not do this. She would not be able to face the Maker with this on her conscience.

The ship was moving now and so was she. Varania was alone in the cabin but could hear the men scurrying about on deck. The flurry of activity involved with launching a ship would be distraction enough, she hoped. She grabbed a small satchel hanging on the wall behind Danarius's desk and took a handful of coins from his coin purse. Varania then gathered up the book of spells Danarius had been looking at this morning. She knew she had no chance to escape if she ran up the stairs. Everyone was near the bow, so she dashed to the window that was farthest aft. Varania took a deep breath, exhaled, squeezed herself through the cabin window, and plunged into the sea.

**Hawke**

She had been helpless as they had wrenched Fenris from her grasp. She sat as though naked and exposed without the ability to channel magic to fight back. She had wanted nothing more than to destroy every last living being in the room, save for Fenris and herself, but he was unarmed and she had no power beyond her own weakened flesh. She could find no way around his silencing spell. Danarius was a powerful mage and a master to be feared. She nearly wept again at that last thought.

The hours passed slowly as she imagined Fenris in increasingly dire circumstances despite every attempt to remain optimistic. There were only so many positive thoughts one could think while tied to a chair in a filthy storeroom. Danarius's ship was surely at sea by now, and she didn't have a clue as to their destination. Minrathous? A port of call somewhere along the way?

Finally, a burly dark-skinned mercenary entered with a knife in hand. He made quick work of the ropes around her wrists and feet. He then took several tentative steps back, half expecting her to jump at him immediately. He overestimated her hand-to-hand combat. She would last approximately a quarter of a minute against a group of capable mercenaries without magic. She could not act hastily out of desperation. Fenris deserved more from her, as she was the only person left in Kirkwall who knew what had transpired.

When she emerged from the small back room, she was surprised that all of Danarius's hired men had left. She spent a few minutes wandering along the Docks, looking for signs that the ship had departed. She asked several ragged dock workers if they had seen a Tevinter vessel head out of the port recently. Most men shrugged or said they couldn't recall, but a handful said they thought they'd seen one leave a few hours ago. No one knew the ship's destination. Hawke sat down, leaning against a wall near an abandoned loading dock, ignoring the overpowering smell coming from the old fishing nets piled up in the corner next to her.

Hawke fingered the small book she had tucked into her robes. Tears welled behind her stinging eyes as she turned each page, slowly. The phrasing sounded beautiful, but she could only guess at its meaning. Hawke turned the book over, touching every part of it. This was all she had of him. She started through the book again, this time noticing an inscription on the inside cover. The penmanship looked slow and deliberate, the letters slightly misshapen.

_'The chains are broken_

_ but are you truly free?'_

_ The answer is no,_

_for I am yours, eternally._

She had tried to be strong for him, but this broke her completely. Tears streamed down her cheeks, slowly at first and then flowing freely until the neck of her robe was soaked. Her throat ached with the effort, her nose dripped, and her face was nothing but burning heat as she sobbed uncontrollably.

She cried until she couldn't breathe and her air came in noisy little gasps.


	9. Silenced

**Hawke**

An uncomfortable crick in her neck caused her to adjust her position. A haze dulled her awareness, blanketing the sounds of men talking and laughing nearby. Waves lapped against something solid and she drifted along.

Suddenly she was conscious again. Her eyes popped open, aware of her surroundings. She had fallen asleep. A dull ache behind her eyes reminded her of what she had been doing before she slept. Hawke rubbed them with the back of her hands. How could she have allowed herself to nap while Fenris was being taken away as a slave? She could now add more guilt to the pot of boiling emotions she was brewing today.

A long stretch of her aching body was met by pins and needles in her legs. She tried to stamp the feeling away as she began walking. The sun was low in the sky and a breeze blew stray strands of hair into her face. At first she was just moving to feel like she was doing something useful. It was only when she began the descent into Darktown that she realized where she was headed.

Anders's reaction when he looked up from his patient shook her from her stupor. He gasped her name, closing the space between them in seconds. She couldn't look that bad, could she?

He reached out to place his hands on her cheeks. "What happened?" his voice was almost too gentle, as if he feared she would shatter if he spoke at a normal volume.

Maybe she was about to shatter. She tried to bury the flashes of Fenris's hands on her, the gag in her dry mouth, Danarius's blood magic, Fenris's eyes, their last kiss, but it was all just so raw. Hawke looked down, the space behind her eyes welling with that threatening heat again. When she finally looked back up at Anders, she was on the edge. A pathetic whimper escaped before she could bury her face in his robes.

She embraced her friend and he said nothing for several minutes. It felt good to be held. The closeness of another body and the protection of his arms fought against the cold shards of anguish. He remained silent, allowing her sobs to slow before he spoke.

"Hawke, what happened? Maker help me, if that fool elf-"

She pushed away from him violently before he could utter another word. It was just like him to jump to conclusions, to somehow blame Fenris. Anders grabbed her wrists to keep her from lashing out again. "They_ took_ him Anders! He's gone!" she wailed, struggling to wrench her arms away. "Get your hands off me, we have to do something!"

Anders did not release his hold. "Woah, woah, woah. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She shifted her weight in an attempt to pry herself from his grip, but he kept holding her stubbornly.

His tone shifted flawlessly from a sharp crack to a soothing murmur. She recognized it as a transparent attempt to placate her. "Alright Marian, it's alright. Now where's Fenris?" He knew her well enough to find the perfect quality in his voice to soothe the anger away. She sighed, feeling herself relax with his change of expression. She knew he meant well, and the caring in his eyes was unmistakable.

As soon as she stopped attempting to bash his skull in, he loosened his grasp on her, moving his hands to her shoulders, gently.

"Danarius is alive, Anders. He attacked me this morning in Lowtown."

"There's no way, we all watched Fenris kill him! His blood was all over the floor," he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well he's definitely alive considering he used me as bait. Fenris traded his freedom for mine and they sailed off from the Docks hours ago to Maker knows where," her voice broke as she finished.

"No one saw them leave? Maybe they went back to Minrathous. Did you try asking at the Docks?"

"That was the first thing I did after they untied me," Hawke said with an impatient edge.

Anders gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze which she took to mean he was sorry and wanted her to calm down before she tried punching him again.

"Alright then, first things first," Anders said, taking her by the hand and attempting to lead her to a table in the back of the clinic. "You've got a nasty cut above your eye, and who knows what else that I can't see."

She shrugged off his hand. "There's no _time_ Anders!" she barked. "We've got to leave now if we have any chance of following them!"

Anders sighed, shaking his head at what he obviously thought was a ridiculous idea. "You know as well as I do that there is no 'following' a ship in the open sea. You have no idea when they left or where they are going." He took her hand more insistently and she allowed herself to be looked at.

Hawke climbed onto the table, her feet dangling over the side. Anders began to channel a spell and bluish swirls of glimmering light unfurled around his fingers. The familiar tingle of Anders's healing danced across her forehead. He took a step back, and began working another spell, this one more effortful from what she saw on his features. She felt a warmth pass through her, settling in the back of her head. Anders squinted in concentration and then the feeling was gone. He let his shoulders relax, staring into the dusty ground.

"He silenced you." Anders stated gravely.

"He also mind-controlled me, beat me with his staff, and tied me to a chair. So what?" She was more than a little perturbed at this point. She understood that she needed to be healthy before she could go chasing after Fenris, but part of her just needed to be moving, if only to quiet the relentless thoughts that came when she was stationary.

"I haven't seen a silencing spell this powerful in a very long time." Anders looked at the wall behind her as if he was suddenly watching a battle unfold on it. She had no idea what was going on in that head of his. He had been acting strangely the past few weeks and she had been meaning to talk to him about it, but it would have to wait.

Hawke snapped her fingers in front of him and he raised his eyebrows in a frustrated acknowledgment of her presence. "You removed it though, didn't you?" She lowered herself off of the table and began making her way toward the door. "Let's go, I want to talk to Isabela about using her ship."

**Fenris**

A thousand tiny insects crawled under his skin, stinging and biting and burrowing all at once. It had been a few hours since Danarius had caused this swarming agony, but it continued to creep across every inch of him. Still, years of practice had attuned him to endure such sadistic treatment without flinching. If he cried out, he knew that Danarius would feel some thrill, and the punishment would be far greater. The intensity of the pain had surprised him, though. Perhaps the passing years had dulled his memory of it, for it was far worse than he recalled.

And he would do it all over again.

As the expanse of open water between the Docks and _Andoral's Mercy _grew, Fenris could feel himself detaching. It was as though he left himself in Kirkwall, just a walking shell of a person. No, not even that, for he was no longer a person but a slave. He knew accepting it would be the only way he would be able to survive. He hoped Hawke would not risk her life to find him, but knowing her, she was already concocting some foolhardy heroic rescue. Hercinia would be the last place she would look. Whatever business Danarius had there, he wished it would be settled quickly so they could return to Minrathous. At least there, with familiar surroundings, he had a chance of escape.

As they passed through the channel out of Kirkwall, the dark walls of the city towered behind them, framed by fierce snow-capped peaks. The great chains of the city loomed overhead as another reminder of the weight of his own shackles. The twins of Kirkwall, the miserable bronze statues flanking their passage, seemed to bear the weight of his heart as well. Their faces were buried in their hands, hiding their pain. He wondered how many slaves had made this passage before him and how many of their thoughts followed the same path. It was strange that such a foreboding place had given him the closest thing to a life he had ever had. He had found friends here. He had found a beautiful woman who, despite his own battle with self-loathing, cared for him. And now all of it was quickly becoming a speck in the distance.

He thought he had finally started the process of clearing out the all-encompassing hate that had fermented within him. Hawke had helped him to put some of it aside at least. Now, a part of him wished he had never begun. When he had been a slave, he'd had nothing to lose. Bitterness and hate were the norm, almost comfortable. Knowing warm feelings, gentle touches, and passionate words only made the cold life of a slave so much more intolerable.

"Come along Fenris, the sun is getting lower in the sky and I've been up entirely too long," Danarius said, making his way down to the bedchambers below.

Fenris left his perch at the bow of the ship to follow his master. He knew his place with Danarius all too well. He was to remain by his side at all times. Back in the Imperium he had watched the man sleep, bathe, visit politicians, read, and eat. He spent every moment beside the magister, unless he had been specifically asked to wait outside, but these times were rare. Fenris was not sure how this would change with Minara's presence. He remembered the woman from Tevinter. Danarius had visited with her often and she'd been intolerable, as all of the magisters were. He could only hope that with their marriage, she and Danarius would require more space from him.

"Where is Varania?" Minara asked as they descended into the cabin at the stern. They walked through the front of the captain's quarters and into the back room that Danarius used as a bedroom while at sea.

"She must still be on deck," Danarius replied, clearly uninterested.

No body slaves had followed them into the bedroom. Fenris shuddered. Danarius fully expected to break him in with the most menial and degrading of duties.

Danarius gestured to Fenris to stand near him. "You have not forgotten how to ready your master for the night, have you my pet?" The words rolled from his tongue like a vile toxin, for Fenris found himself paralyzed.

"I'm in no mood for repeating myself," he threatened.

Fenris still felt the stirrings of fire in his markings from Danarius's last torment. The memory of the pain spurred him to action and he was clumsily removing his master's robes before he allowed himself a second thought.

"You should feel lucky that I plan on wiping your memories again once we reach Hercinia. A fresh start will certainly mean less pain in your future. Hesitate like that again and you will surely wish for it."

No.

This couldn't be happening again. All of the injustices of it swam through him as he undressed both magisters. He fumbled for the clasp on Minara's robe as he was drawn into a frenzied silent panic. Without memories, how would he know what to fight for? He would have no idea what was right and what was wrong. He wouldn't know that Danarius was a horrible creature with terrifying power. He would not remember Hawke. It was impossible to fathom never knowing her touch, never tasting her, not even being able to recognize her if they passed one another in the street.

His master must have seen a hint of turmoil behind his mask of stoicism, for he ripped at his fresh wounds ruthlessly. Danarius drew his wife's naked body to him in a snake-like embrace. Fenris was not a fool to think their passions overflowed at the thought of each other. It was a show of power. Danarius was finding yet another way to make him miserable, reminding him who was the master and who was the slave. He wanted Fenris to see that he would never have this closeness with someone he cared for. Fenris gritted his teeth to keep from acting out on the anger that was clawing at him.

Danarius pulled away from his wife's lips long enough to mumble at him to draw the shades and snuff out the candles and that he would be allowed to rest on the floorboards tonight.

Fenris sat on the hard wooden planks with his back against the wall. His fingers went reflexively to where her favor had been on his wrist, seeking comfort in the soft fabric. There was nothing but the cold steel of his gauntlet. He tried to think louder than the sickening sounds of skin slapping. He tried to remember wildflowers, her scent, the tang of her lips, and the wrinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiled. His pleasant defense was ruined by the wet friction of their bodies and their feverish panting. As the two magisters groaned their climax, husky voices echoing off the cabin walls, Fenris allowed himself to crumble. Tears streamed hot down his cheeks as the magisters' breathing slowed, then steadied, and was finally replaced by muffled snoring. He remained there in the dark, trying to control the burning in his eyes and his flesh, before his own exhaustion overtook him.


	10. Bloodstained

**Hawke**

"So we leave in the morning then," Varric said with certainty.

Anders raised his eyebrows at the dwarf. "Do you really think that's wise?" He shook his head. "Nevermind, I'm asking this of a dwarf who saves his bedroom talk for his crossbow," he added under his breath.

Hawke, Anders, Varric, and Isabela sat around a table near the back of the Hanged Man. Hawke had detailed the events of the day to her companions and Varric had agreed to help. Isabela had offered up _The Siren's Call_ to get them all where they needed to go. Now, they just needed some semblance of direction.

"You may be surprised by this, but I think our lovable possessed mage over there has a point," Isabela said, waving her finger as if to punctuate her statement. "I'd love to be the captain who leads her companions to a valiant rescue, but even pirates need plans."

"Preferably one that doesn't involve sleeping with a deranged magister or two," Varric chuckled, taking another swig of ale.

The two of them had been sharing drinks before she and Anders had found them at the tavern. Hawke was in no mood for joking after the day she'd had, but she needed their help, drunk or not. She wished for Aveline's decisive voice, but she'd been too bogged down at the Keep to get away. Even Merril would have at least taken the discussion seriously, but she seemed to be caught up in something lately. Hawke didn't have the patience to track down the flighty mage tonight.

"Come on you two. Who do you know that could help?"

Anders didn't give either a chance to reply. "I really think we should make a sweep of the Docks again and just wait a few days for some news to arise."

"These things don't just _arise _without a little stroking first." Isabela turned to Varric, giving him her best devious smirk. "The poor frustrated apostate, you'd think he'd know a thing or two about needing a stroking!"

The mouthful of ale that Varric had just taken exploded into a spray as he laughed. Isabela's jokes always became less witty the more ale that she had downed. That never mattered to a drunk Varric, though, so long as they were crude. On any other night, she would have laughed right along with them. Instead, Hawke gave both of them a stare that would have taken the fire out of a high dragon. Varric put his head down, pretending to think while Isabela found something interesting to look at in her mug.

Isabela broke the silence first by clearing her throat and assuming her best business voice. "Seems as good a plan as any. Then if we don't hear anything for a day or two we'll just sail for Minrathous."

"I still like the idea of Captain Isabela swinging in and sweeping Broody off his feet. Ooooh! And the ship will be on fire and Fenris will play the helpless victim for good measure and more fanciful storytelling," Varric supplied, his momentary seriousness already dissolved by the ale.

Anders took one look at Hawke, who had her face twisted into a scowl, and stood up, "Well it's decided then. Let's meet here tomorrow morning and see what we can dig up."

Hawke didn't like it, but she had thought about the situation all night, and couldn't think of a more desirable approach. She appreciated that Anders made the decision for her before she had the chance to strangle her other, more intoxicated, friends. They finished discussing the details of their meeting tomorrow morning and left the tavern. Anders walked with her, making the turn to Darktown.

Hawke stopped. "Anders, would you mind walking me home? I'm still a little... jittery."

"You're not going home tonight," Anders said flatly, motioning for her to follow.

"Please, I'm in no mood to argue with you. I need sleep, clothes, and a bath desperately."

"My clinic can offer you all of those things. Besides, Danarius may have sent assassins to finish you off once he was safely out of the city. Come on, after everything you've been through today, you need some company anyway." He gave her a pleading look, altering his tone playfully, adding, "Please? Justice will be up all night worried if you're at home all by yourself."

She fought back a smirk. "I wouldn't be alone." She started to think of reasons why she'd be perfectly safe in her own bed, but this argument was not worth the effort right now. "At this point I don't care where I sleep. I honestly just want this day to be over." She dropped her shoulders and followed her friend.

They walked for a minute or two in the direction of the clinic before Anders spoke again. "There's something I needed to talk to you about." He waited a moment before continuing. "That spell that Danarius cast. Were you awake when he did it?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Now he had her curious. He'd been preoccupied immediately after he'd cleansed her of the silencing spell earlier today. "I didn't see him cast it, no."

"It reminded me of a class of magic I had a brief education about a few years back. It is very," he paused choosing the next word carefully, "specialized. There are several directions the spell can take to manipulate the mind," Anders looked off again, his brows lightly furrowed. "The power of the spell was almost too much for me to remove by myself."

"Blood magic, huh?"

"Yes." He stretched the word and let it hang thickly around them.

"They could fill another Circle Tower with the blood mages we've dealt with lately," Hawke responded, unaffected by Anders's grave discourse.

"You aren't getting it Hawke," Anders reproached, stopping to step in front of her. "These spells Danarius is delving into are incredibly unique. Cleansing their effects is like trying to open a lock with a key that doesn't fit. One would need blood magic to remove something any stronger."

Hawke thought about the touch of the silencing spell, how it had felt so stifling and the way it had settled into her over time. She had grown almost accustomed to it by the time Anders removed it. Maybe it was just that she had been hit over the head too many times.

"Those Tevinter magisters..." Anders started walking again. "Did you ever wonder why Fenris had no memory of his life before his markings?"

"He said it happened during the lyrium infusion ritual. I figured it had something to do with the pain," she sharpened her tone with the last sentence, displaying her irritation with the subject. "It's not something we enjoy discussing together."

"Well picture this; Danarius could easily take this spell a step further. Imagine someone being permanently silenced and I don't mean just kept from casting spells. Imagine a man not being able to speak. Imagine a mage with the power to make a person forget anything they chose."

Hawke picked at the sleeve of her robe as they rounded the last corner. "Where did you hear about this?"

"When I was with the Grey Wardens I met an apostate who had fled the Circle to the Imperium. He'd studied under a magister there who had done these things to slaves. I wasn't sure I believed it, the stories seemed so embellished at the time, but that silence had a strange feel to it." As they entered the clinic, Anders began gathering blankets from a makeshift shelf in corner. "I've cleansed my fair share of spells, but that one had such a strong hold, I was immediately reminded of that conversation with him." He shook the dust off a few blankets as he continued, "I've learned more since then about the magic of the Tevinter Magisters, things no Circle mage would dare to try."

Anders spread the blankets onto a bed he'd used for patients in the corner. He patted it playfully, trying to lighten the mood. Hawke mustered up a weak smile and plopped down. "I'm no Bodahn, but it's better than nothing," he teased. His eyes had that sad sparkle again.

"Thanks for everything today, Anders," she said gently, trying to avoid his gaze. She unlaced her boots, giving a groan when she was finally free of them.

"You're welcome to anything I have here. There may even be some clean women's bedclothes back here," he offered, already rifling through another pile of goods. "Very stylish as well!" he joked, holding up an outrageous excuse for a night robe. It looked more like a tablecloth, complete with unsightly stains.

The sound of her own laugh startled her. "What choices I have! My own blood-stained robes or someone else's? Good thing I'm not out to impress anyone, hmm?" She scolded herself for the wrong choice of words. It was true, but Anders didn't deserve to have it rubbed in his face.

Anders turned away before she could read his reaction. He brought her a basin and a cloth so she could rinse away the layer of grime that was caked onto her skin. Then he excused himself so she could tend to her needs privately.

As she bathed herself, her mind went over the events of the day again and again, trying to find something she'd missed. Maybe there would be someone at the Docks tomorrow that would know something. It was possible that a few of the dock workers could have gone home for the day by the time she arrived to question them. She should ask Aveline to at least keep an eye out for a hint about Danarius's ship. She also needed to stop by her estate to grab a fresh change of robes in the morning.

Hawke pulled the oversized nightshirt over her head and looked down at herself. It was positively ridiculous. Fenris would have gotten a good chuckle out of this. A pang of longing struck her; she missed him already. She had gone much longer without seeing him and not felt like this, but the number of miles between them somehow amplified the ache.

Luckily, Anders re-entered the room before she had too much time to fall into grief again. "Are you decent?" he called from the doorway.

Hawke stood up, trying to mask her misery, and modeled her new look. "I've never felt more like a dining room table in all my life."

"Andraste herself would fall in awe at your feet, my lady," Anders said with a bow.

With this lighthearted gesture, Hawke realized she was glad she had stayed with Anders. She would certainly have punished herself all night with self-deprecating thoughts if left alone. She expected perfection from herself in all things, and today had been a miserable failure. She held onto guilt about only a handful of things, but this was the heaviest burden she had carried since Mother had died. She appreciated that Anders probably knew it, too, which was why he was trying so hard to distract her.

He maintained his posture of mock-reverence as he came to sit beside her on the bed. He turned to look at her, his eyes flitting around nervously as if trying to decide whether or not to say what was on his mind. "I'm really glad you're alright, Marian."

"Thanks, Anders. For that and for everything else today. Well, except this thing," she said pinching the front of the nightgown and pulling it away from her body to show off a particularly disturbing stain.

Anders's smile seemed forced this time as he got up and walked to the back of the clinic where he slept. He turned to glance at her again as he said goodnight and blew out the rest of the candles. With no candlelight, it became blacker than any night she could remember. It forced her to close her eyes. Her thoughts didn't even have time to wander before she drifted into the consuming darkness.

When she awoke, Anders was already up with his back to her, mixing some potions and placing them into a pouch at his hip. She readied herself for the day while he finished his preparations. The two of them didn't say much until they were on their way to her estate. She remembered that they were both not their best this early in the morning. Fenris, on the other hand, had always seemed alert. She had never seen him wake from a night's sleep, though. He was always the first one up when they'd had to sleep on the road during some of their travels. She knew more about Anders's morning habits than his. She pictured Fenris warm in a soft bed somewhere, even though she knew the truth was much harsher. Would he drink a cup of tea? Did he lie in bed a few minutes before getting up? Darker thoughts pulled at her; she may never know any of these frivolous things about him.

"Snap out of it," Anders said, elbowing her lightly. "Get what you need and let's find us an elf today."

Hawke had been so deep in thought, she hadn't noticed they were already at her front stoop. She opened the door and Orana was right behind it, as though she had been waiting for hours.

"Orana, what's wrong?" Hawke asked. The elf she had hired was always a bit jumpy, but this was excessive, even for her.

She gave a nervous look behind her. "You have a visitor, Messere."

Hawke turned to follow Orana's gaze and she saw her. Varania. The miserable traitor was in her house, coming back for her again, no doubt.

Reflexively, Hawke cast a stunning spell, pushing Varania back with a brutal gust of elemental force. She grabbed a dagger she kept in her robes and closed the distance between them rapidly. Hawke pinned one of Varania's arms behind her and placed the blade against the elf's throat.


	11. A Disappearance

**Varania**

"Don't! Please!" she pleaded. Varania had come to warn this woman, and here she was about to be murdered by her. One of the stunning spells Minara had taught her nearly rolled off her tongue, but she cut it short. That would most certainly make a bad situation worse. She tried to think clearly. She needed some leverage and if she didn't say something soon, this woman looked on edge enough to kill her before she had a chance to explain. Suddenly she remembered she had that leverage in her pocket.

Varania reached for it, but the human pressed her dagger more forcefully against the skin of her neck. "Be still," the Champion threatened, her hot breath against her ear. She must have thought she was grabbing for a weapon. "Why did you come here?"

Varania relaxed her posture, hoping that if she did, the Champion would loosen her grip on her arm. "I escaped to come find _you_. I needed to give you something and tell you where they are taking Leto."

"Why should we trust you?" While the Champion adjusted her grip, Varania found she could maneuver just enough to retrieve the red scarf from its place in her robe, but her fingers were thick with fear, and it slipped from her pocket onto the floor. The moment the human woman saw the piece of fabric, she released her hold completely. The Champion crumbled onto the floor, kneeling to pick up the token and cradling it as though it were an injured dove.

Varania took a few steps back. The human hadn't taken her eyes off the sash and when she spoke, she sounded as though she were a thousand miles away. "Is he alive?"

"He lives, but he is in danger of his master's wrath," Varania began to explain.

"How did you get this?" the human gave her a distant look, still kneeling, holding the cloth in both hands under her chin. Varania watched the woman rub the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, then run it over her cheek. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she seemed to be working hard to keep them from spilling over, but the Champion was still somewhere else.

"Danarius stripped him of all ties to his life here, Champion, and he plans to go a step further than that." Varania was careful to leave out the part about his being tortured along with it. "He plans on stopping in Hercinia. He knows a powerful mage there who is going to help him perform a spell to erase Leto's memories again."

"The type of spell I was telling you about last night." A mage who had been standing just on the inside of the front door took a few steps into the foyer. He was taller than the Champion with light hair pulled back away from his face. She recognized him from the tavern when everything had begun only a few days ago. Had it really only been three days?

The Champion hadn't said a word. She was still kneeling, looking down at the scarlet material in her hand. The blonde man walked over to her and helped her to her feet by her elbow. His eyes never left Varania. He was studying her, looking for something.

"Alright, let's get a few things straight," the man began. "First, call her Hawke because she finds it irksome when people call her Champion. Second, call Fenris, Fenris, because I'm easily confused. Third, if you must call me anything, then make it Anders."

"Whatever you prefer, Anders," Varania said, acknowledging him with a nod. She looked down to Hawke and did the same, "Hawke."

This strange human seemed to be taking charge of the situation, assuming a protective posture over Hawke. She wasn't sure who to direct her attention to, so she let her gaze float between the two of them.

"Why did you come back? Why should we trust you?" Hawke finally asked, repeating her earlier question. Her voice was raspy with emotion and a deep wrinkle formed between her brows. "Especially after your part in his capture." The rest of her face had hardened with anger by the time she finished.

Varania shook her head. "I just… I just couldn't do it. I couldn't watch Le-"she paused, letting a loud breath escape through her nose, "_Fenris _go through that. Danarius was cruel to him."

"What did you expect?" the Champion snapped. "What did you expect when you stabbed your own brother in the back? You were the one that led that piece of Hurlock shit here! And you come here talking about cruelty!"

She was suddenly glad for the blonde mage's presence. He had one hand on the Champion's arm and the other around her waist, trying to comfort her and hold her back simultaneously. She wasn't sure how the Champion was going to proceed, but it was safer not to find out one-on-one.

Varania tried to explain, but her words came jumbled, insufficient. "You don't know how he was. He wanted to be a weapon for him, to earn the honor, but he was supposed to come back for us, Mother and I," she paused and her voice softened when she continued. "He seems... changed."

Hawke tried to pull away from Anders, her voice just below a scream. "Of course he is changed! He was _free_! He was just finally learning to live!"

Varania looked away from Hawke's raging eyes. There was too much going on. The anger directed toward her, this heavy blanket of guilt, her brother's muffled cries of pain still in her ears, the dull ache of sleep deprivation, everything collided at once. She'd thought this was the right thing to do, but she was overwhelmed. She exploded, ripping Danarius's spellbook from her robes and throwing it at the Champion.

"I was _trying to help!_" she screamed as the book landed at the woman's feet. Varania saw a look of shock cross Hawke's face before she turned to leave. She wasn't sure where she would go, but she couldn't be here.

"Wait! I-" Hawke began, "I -" The woman still had a fiery blush to her cheeks, but was making an obvious attempt to control her anger. Hawke obviously hadn't considered how angering her might hurt her own chances of finding Leto. She exhaled loudly, pulling away from the mage's hold on her hip, and took a step toward her. The Champion was still stiff, but she had managed to remove most of the scowl from her face. "Thank you," she sighed.

Hawke held her gaze, her anger replaced by a grave sadness. She was fidgeting with the red sash, much as her brother had yesterday. Varania let her balled fists relax and took a few slow steps to where the other woman stood. She stooped to retrieve the spellbook, still damp from her swim, and gestured with it. "There is much we have to discuss before our voyage to Hercinia," she said, adding a nod and the removal of her own frown to the truce.

**Fenris**

The waves caught the first hint of dawn's light, glinting like shards of amethyst. The horizon was a faint purple, even as stars were visible elsewhere in the night sky. Soon, the tiny pinpoints of light grew more difficult to see, as the sun crept closer to this side of the world. Fenris watched the display from one of two small windows in Danarius's bedchamber, enjoying the solitude before the rest of the ship awoke. He had been savoring his memories, for he didn't know how long they would last. Now that the sun had almost risen, and with it had come light, he could work to retain some of those memories.

Five or six days were all he had. If the winds continued to favor them, they might make port sooner than that. This meant that he needed to act with haste. There would be only a handful of minutes in which Fenris would find himself alone and with sufficient light to complete the task.

He crept to the foot of the bed and laid down on his back, splaying himself onto the floorboards of the bedchamber, and pushed himself part-way under Danarius's four-poster bed. He listened for the breathing patterns of the two humans sleeping above him. When he heard both loudly and evenly he used the clawed index finger of one gauntlet to begin scratching lines into the wood on the underside of the bed frame. It helped that his sense of sight was so keen. He thought that the lyrium had enhanced some of his senses, as he seemed to hear and see things that others struggled to perceive. It was hard to know without the memories from before to compare. Either way, he needed very little natural light to see the crude letters he was scratching out. He rushed to complete the first, most important message to himself.

_Do not trust Danarius_

He had begun the second phrase in his note, when he heard a muffled snort and bedcovers shifting above. Fenris pushed himself silently from under the frame and into a fetal position, pretending to lie asleep at the foot of the bed. A shaft of sunlight was already pouring through the east window. He closed his eyes, feeling the light sway of the ship, relishing the quiet.

Danarius was the first to break the silence, his voice thick and gravelly. "Good morning, Love."

Minara answered with a languorous sigh, the wood creaking with her shifting body.

"Fenris, rise and prepare us for the day," he rasped, raising his volume as if to wake him.

He pulled himself up slowly, taking a moment longer to feign grogginess. Fenris participated in the morning duties of a simple slave, focusing his thoughts on the mundane task, embracing each of them in turn. Thinking about small things helped the time to pass quickly and helped him maintain his stolid expression. He had to be sure to avoid any extra attention from Danarius. He looked at the tapestries on the walls, naming the colors of each to himself. Then, he counted the stitches in Minara's robe. He was a quarter of the way through the sleeve when they were ready for the day's activity.

Fenris followed the two mages onto the deck of _Andoral's Mercy_ where the crew was already up, tending to their duties. The sails were drawn and they billowed with each gust of morning wind. The breeze was cold and brought a tingle to his cheeks, but the warmth of the sun could already be felt on his skin. Fenris ran a hand through his hair, and stood in the middle of the deck, allowing his master some space to tend to the other slaves.

"What?" he heard Minara shriek, her voice so shrill and grating it nearly drew a shudder from him.

She was standing on the bow of the ship, talking with a short, dark-haired elf who was still toiling with some of the ship's running rigging. Fenris followed Danarius who had drawn closer to the pair.

"I have not seen her, Mistress. I am sorry," the young elf said, his body rigid.

"This is not a large ship, boy. Find her!" Minara ordered.

The sailor looked toward the coil of rope on the deck to his left and then looked down at his hands. Fenris shook his head. He would be punished for not seeing to his duties on deck, but more severely punished for disobeying Minara. As if coming to the same conclusion, the elf dropped the rope and dashed down to the belly of the ship in search of whoever it was he was ordered to find.

"What is all of this?" Danarius asked, his tone still aloof, as if any affairs outside of his own were unworthy of his attentions.

"I was asking for Varania, but that elf has not seen her, which is ridiculous considering the size of the ship. There are only so many places to sleep," Minara answered. The edge in her voice had dulled considerably while addressing Danarius.

Danarius gave a sharp whistle to another deckhand nearby. "You there! Find the red-haired elf, Varania and tell her she is summoned! Quickly!"

The young man gave a swift nod. "Of course, Master." He scurried away, bumping into a slave who was making her way up the stairs. The tray she was carrying was jarred just enough to send the contents of several vessels of water onto her smock. Fenris was glad Danarius had been facing the other direction, if only for the sake of the two lucky slaves.

"I bet she is just lounging below deck, like the lazy dog she is. I don't know why you feel she deserves to be an apprentice," Minara complained.

"She doesn't _deserve _anything, but she does have a natural talent. It would be a shame to waste such a thing, would it not little wolf?" Danarius said, turning to Fenris.

"It would, Master," he managed hoarsely. It had been so long since he had spoken, he found his already deep voice to be even more so this morning. His throat was dry, and his mouth felt as though it were stuffed with wool. Thinking back, he realized he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since yesterday morning. Bodahn had given him a few slices of buttered bread and some water before he had set out to find Hawke, but that was a day ago. He had become accustomed to simply going for a drink when he was thirsty and eating when hungry. Fenris hoped that Danarius would quickly tire of this current game of control and allow him regular meals.

The three of them stood in silence, watching the horizon until the two sailors returned with news that Varania had not been found. Immediately, Minara began searching every corner of the ship personally. When Varania still wasn't found, she threatened more slaves and sailors, pushed over several shelves of goods down below deck, and threw the contents of some sailors' personal lockers onto the floor before she had spent herself. Fenris trailed Danarius, who managed to keep a relatively calm countenance throughout the frenzied spectacle.

After about an hour of the three of them, every sailor, and every slave searching, it was decided that Varania was not aboard the ship. The sailors and slaves were relieved from the hunt to return to their duties. Danarius tried to soothe Minara as they walked to the main cabin to break their fast. Fenris followed, trying to control his own anger.

Fenris could not believe his sister had been so foolish to think she could escape. How could she risk Hawke's life so brazenly? Whether she intended to selfishly escape on her own or whether it was her intent to help him by informing Hawke of his master's plan, it did not matter. Danarius most certainly had hired men to stay behind at the Docks, watching for both of them there. There were probably many eyes on Hawke's estate as well, studying and reporting everything that passed. Even if Varania had escaped and her own guilt had pushed her to Hawke's to warn her of their destination, Danarius had probably left a web of hired mercenaries or Tevinter soldiers to kill them before they could leave Kirkwall. Fenris had replayed each situation over and over, thinking of ways to escape with Hawke, but every time something was wrong. Danarius could not be left alive, otherwise he would remain a continued threat. Fenris had concluded that it was not worth the risk to Hawke, he would rather remain a slave than risk her life for his.

"This changes nothing, my love," Danarius said, his voice was melodic and held no hint of worry.

"But Varania knows our plans! What if the Champion follows us to Hercinia?"

Danarius turned to Fenris then, a wicked grin unfurling slowly across his face. "Then imagine the look on the Champion's face when Fenris rips her heart through her chest."


	12. Vengeance

**Varania**

Varania thought she would never set foot in the filthy pub again, but here she was, the stench of sweat, sour breath, and cheap ale nearly as strong as she remembered. First thing in the morning she expected at least an improvement in the smell. She was disappointed. Why Hawke chose to meet her companions at The Hanged Man when her own estate was so much more habitable, she would never know.

Hawke led the way to the back of the tavern with Anders at her side and Varania taking up the rear. The Champion stopped at a small alcove where a dwarf was sitting with a familiar-looking rogue in a skin-tight tunic.

"Woah there Hawke, we're full up on crazy here," the woman said as she caught a glimpse of Varania. She had assumed a defensive stance, hands on her daggers.

"It's alright, she'll explain why she's here," Hawke said.

"This oughta be good," the dark-haired human mumbled. Varania was relieved when the woman let her hands relax at her sides, a safe distance from the vicious-looking blades strapped to her hips.

Anders spoke from over her shoulder, "What Isabela means to say, Hawke, is that she is very sorry for being an incorrigible drunken fool last night and owes you her full attention this morning."

The dwarf spoke from across the low table he was sitting behind. "In all seriousness, Hawke, we definitely owe you one. We were both seeing double by the time you showed up last night." The tanned woman gave Hawke an apologetic smile, nodding her agreement.

"It's fine Varric," Hawke said, pulling up a bench and gesturing for Varania to sit at the table with them. "Let them see what you showed us back at my place."

Varania pulled Danarius' book of spells from her robes and flipped to a marked page. She turned the book to face the dwarf they called Varric, while the rogue, Isabela, peered over his shoulder. Varania pointed to a diagram outlined in dark red ink depicting a vial and a halved brain. There were words in Tevinter scrawled under the sketch, with formulas and equations on the opposite page. The ink was smudged, some of the letters bleeding into each other. The effect was rather unsettling. The dwarf curled his lip in disgust, eyes wide.

"Your friend, my brother, has been taken to Hercinia where his master plans to wipe away his memory. I learned a little of Danarius' magic in the Imperium and more during our journey to capture him here. This page details a spell used to erase a victim's memory. The spell uses blood magic. So much blood is required that the magister will often use blood slaves to complete the ritual. I came back to warn you of this."

"Why the change of heart Ginger?" Varric asked, one eyebrow cocked at her.

"I felt guilty enough after my part here three days ago. Danarius was so cruel to Leto-," she paused, "-Fenris after we boarded his ship. I couldn't sit there and watch anymore."

"Why aren't they just going back to the Imperium? What's in Hercinia?" The rogue had stopped glaring at her as though she were a venomous insect, and was now leaning over the book, completely absorbed by it.

"Danarius is seeking a former magister there by the name of Senecus. He is to help perform the complicated ritual. Fenris has already had his memory wiped once in such a manner and Danarius mentioned that it would be more involved a second time."

"We're already a day behind, what if they've completed the ritual already? Fenris might not recognize us?" Isabela's brows were knitted in disbelief.

Anders picked up the spellbook and turned one damp page, "This book details the options that can be taken if this is the case. This particular magic is not permanent if removed quickly. Like any silencing spell or mind control, there is a counterspell," he explained stabbing a finger at another incantation. "The longer you wait to remove it, however, the more difficult it becomes to cleanse."

Varania looked down at the table, tracing the knotted wood with her finger. "I don't know how effective my counterspell will be, I am not fully trained in magic of this kind... but I will try."

"But you have seen it done," Anders pointed out, "and you are the only one here comfortable with blood magic." The mage was looking at Hawke, sharing some unspoken conversation. Isabela and the dwarf, Varric, were looking away from her, both affected by this recent disclosure.

Varania knew these two mages were against blood magic, but they needed her in case Danarius' spell was too powerful to remove on their own. Anders had mentioned that he had barely been able to cleanse the silencing spell that Danarius had cast on Hawke. This did not bode well for their chances of removing the spell Danarius would use on Leto. Anders and Hawke were both powerful, but the spells the magister used were meant to work with blood. It was obvious they were not at ease with the fact that she had embraced this power, but it seemed they were willing to put that aside until Leto was safe.

"Talk about an awkward silence," Isabela said, her eyes glued to the pages of the tome still in front of them.

The dwarf had taken one of his gloves off and was slapping it down on the table repeatedly. He slapped it one last time decisively, before saying, "Well, what are we waiting for?"

"For the Captain to ready her crew of course," Isabela smirked.

"Did you have some sailors in mind?" Hawke asked, already standing up.

Isabela followed Hawke's lead, but then broke off, heading further toward the back of the Hanged Man. "Quite a few men around here owe me a favor or two," she called over her shoulder. "I'll meet you at the _Siren's Call_ in an hour."

**Hawke**

She wondered why things could never go as planned as she whirled her staff across her body, bringing it down on the forehead of one of the mercenaries nearby. The scraggly bearded man lurched backwards, impaling himself on two wooden spikes that made up part of the barrier separating the dusty path they followed from the ocean below. His eyes seemed to lock as the rest of his body went limp and the rusting sword he wielded dropped from his grasp and plunged into the murky water.

They had nearly made it to the _Siren's Call_. Hawke could see her tan sails peeking over the roof of the warehouse directly in front of them. Varric had just pointed the ship out to her as this group of thugs had leapt from an alley to their right. There were seven that she had counted, but they were only five strong now.

Suddenly, something whistled past her ear, a bolt from Varric's crossbow. It plunged into the shoulder of a warrior that had begun to charge Varania. Four.

She heard Varric praise his own aim as she began chanting a spell, willing the force toward a hooded assassin who had managed to come within a few yards of Anders. The assailant was staggered momentarily, but recovered quickly enough to close the remaining gap between he and her friend. She sent a shock of lightning at the man, but he had already managed to rip a gash in Anders' upper arm. Anders reeled, clutching his arm. One more spell placed on the mark was enough to cause the attacker to crumple into the dirt. Three.

She rushed to fight near Anders who was vulnerable after kneeling on the ground to tend to his injury. Blood was dripping between the fingers that grasped his wounded arm. He shooed her away with his bloodied hand, already assuming the focused expression that signaled to Hawke that he was about to heal himself. She took the hint that he would be able to handle the gash alone and went to work sending a few frost spells in brutal succession at a remaining archer. Two.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Varania, who was channeling a spell toward a very large warrior trained on Varric. The dwarf had been kiting the man around using disorienting effects, flasks, and all manner of tactics unknown to Hawke. The combatant cursed, trying to remove Varric's pinning shot that held him in place. With no warriors in the party, they were at a disadvantage. Normally Aveline or Fenris fell into the role of distracting the strong melee fighters while the rest of her friends could work at range. It didn't seem to matter this time though, as another bolt from Bianca was let loose, this time sinking into the warrior's thick muscular neck. A gagging cough was all the man managed before he gripped the shaft protruding from his neck and his knees buckled. One.

The last enemy realized his predicament, his eyes flitting between the four of them as he made the decision to flee. He vaulted himself over the barrier of wooden spears lining the edge of the path and dove into the sea. Varric let out a vigorous chuckle as he carefully placed Bianca in her resting place, strapped to his back.

"Looks like he'd rather take his chances with the sharks," the dwarf said walking toward the rest of the group gathered by Anders. "Can't say I blame him. You alright Blondie?"

"Just a flesh wound," Anders said with a sneer.

"Where's Bianca when you really need her, huh?" Hawke teased as she tightened her boots and readjusted her robes which had bunched uncomfortably during the battle.

"Don't bwing his wittle pwecious into this," Anders baby-talked mockingly.

Varric played along, petting his crossbow gently. "Don't listen to them sweetheart."

"Maybe if you'd agreed to let me teach you a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat, you wouldn't have to heal yourself so much," Isabela said as she stealthed out of the shadows.

"Maybe my friends should stop being so fashionably late for battles," Anders quipped, wiping the blood off his hand with a bit of his torn robe.

"I've got five sailors meeting us at the ship any time now. Does that excuse my tardiness?" Isabela asked.

"That depends on how fast they can get us to Hercinia," Hawke said, walking in the direction of the ship. "Let's go."

The rest of Hawke's companions started their way down the path following her. When they were within full view of the _Siren's Call_, Anders reached out from beside her and caught her by the crook of the arm. "You guys go ahead. I need a quick word with Hawke."

He led her a short way down a small alley behind several seemingly abandoned storehouses. When the other three members of the party were out of sight, Anders drew close to her.

"What is it Anders?" she asked, making her annoyance at the delay more than obvious.

He took her by the shoulders then, and Hawke found herself against the wall of the building, those sad cinnamon eyes boring holes into her hard outer shell. His lips were drawn into a taut line until he parted them to let out a lingering sigh.

"I can't go with you," he said with finality.

"What? But you helped me plan this whole thing!"

"I know, and you will be fine. Please tell the others," he murmured the last few words.

"Anders, I can't- this is too much to do alone," she shook her head, her eyebrows crushed together, questioning, "Why can't you go? What's the matter?" Her words came tumbling out before she could catch them and they seemed to clatter on the ground around her. She wished she could be more articulate, but language always seemed to fall flat when it really mattered.

Not a single line in Anders' expression had changed with her speech, he hadn't even twitched. "You won't be alone, you have a very capable group without me."

She heard a hint of uncertainty there. He wasn't completely sure about this decision, she knew that much. His glistening eyes revealed that he was saddened by the choice, but the hard lines around his eyes indicated some semblance of resolve had formed. Changing his mind might be difficult.

"Bullshit," she said, finally shaking his hands off of her upper arms. "You've been purposely avoiding telling me something for the past few weeks. Does this have something to do with whatever you had us gathering in the sewers last week? For that potion?"

"Hawke, I have to stay here to finish something I'm working on," Anders said, purposely avoiding her direct questions. He always gave her a generic answer when he didn't want to be prodded about something.

"Perfect..." she let her voice trail off into a heavy outward breath, looking away.

She startled when he took her hand. He looked down as he intertwined his fingers with hers, a frighteningly intimate gesture. Before she could pull away he cupped his palm under her chin caressing her cheek. His hands were soft, his touch was light, barely a brush against her skin. He leaned in, placing a tender kiss at the corner of her lips. He didn't pull back right away, instead, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Oh Maker, I wish things could have been different with us," he whispered. The amber flecks in his eyes sparkled as tears welled around them.

"Anders, I-"

He interrupted then, which was appreciated, as she had no idea how to respond. "Take this," he said, removing the hand from her face, and pulling a vial from the pouch at his side. He placed it gently into her free hand. "This was one discovery I made while digging through the research of the Tevinter Magisters. If someone falls during battle, they can be revived. Mix this with the victim's blood before it cools completely and they will be strengthened enough to rise again."

"You really aren't going to tell me why you need to stay?" Hawke pressed.

"You'll find out sooner or later. After you return with the luckiest elf in Thedas," Anders said, finally pulling his hand away.

They walked together silently in the direction of the ship, but Anders turned just before reaching it. He looked back once over his shoulder and she tried to manage a smile for him. If her forced smile looked anything like his, she shouldn't have even bothered trying.


	13. Icy Touch

**Danarius**

The rain was driving hard onto the deck in what seemed like all directions. A storm had blown in suddenly, just as they were nearing Hercinia. On a sunny day, Danarius would have been able to make out the clay rooftops of the city from where the ship was now. Instead, all he saw was the weather. The rain continued to pour relentlessly as he watched from the doorway with wet boots. The sailors struggled with the drenched rigging, making their last adjustments as they turned toward the port. It had been a long five days at sea. He was ready for a hot bath and a warm meal.

A rail-thin deckhand scampered over to where he stood at the top of the stairs leading into the cabin. "We are nearing Hercinia, Magister."

"I know," he replied wearily. A sailor had already relayed the same message, but Danarius didn't have the energy to berate the slave.

He called down the stairs. "Fenris, collect my belongings. We will disembark within the quarter hour."

"Yes, Master."

His voiced pleased Danarius. It had lost the sharp edge of defiance and now rumbled with a dull uniformity. Each day aboard _Andoral's Mercy_ had deflated Fenris' pride just slightly, the cumulative effect being a perfectly dutiful slave. Danarius knew better than to go by what was on the exterior of a man, however. He knew that now, more than ever, wiping away Fenris' memories was going to be of utmost importance. Perhaps his slave had just become more adept at hiding his emotions. Either way, hearing him submit so easily was a reminder of his success. He was finally on the last leg of this unpleasant little journey.

He watched the sky unload its fury on the sailors for a few more minutes, then turned down into his chambers and picked out a heavy hooded cloak to keep himself out of the rain. He helped Minara into hers and gathered a few books from his writing desk. He felt the ship slow, then heard a gentle _thud_ against the hull indicating they had made port. Fenris was at his side then, handing him his satchel full of personal items.

Danarius bowed his head to the weather and climbed the stairs, the torrent greeting him, soaking almost immediately through his woolen cloak. He would have sent a slave to announce his arrival, but he hadn't seen Senecus in several years, and didn't want to chance offending him. He remembered the former magister as a prideful man, and might take anything less than a personal greeting sorely. Danarius needed the man's help desperately, especially since that worthless elf, Varania, had managed to steal his spellbook.

He traversed the ramp onto the dock, careful to keep his footing on the uneven water-soaked boards. Minara clung to him as they approached a stone overhang and solid ground. He peered under the edge of his cloak, spotting two men partially obscured by hanging vines. What he had thought was just an overhang now spread in front of him as a pair of enormous rock arches. They had probably been meticulously chiseled ages ago, but the smooth edges had eroded unevenly. Mineral deposits from hundreds of years of downpours and the constant abuse from the salty winds gave them an eerily archaic quality. The rain was being funneled by the snaking creepers winding their way around the stone, and water cascaded from each vine as though it were being propelled. If Danarius was only partially drenched before, he was now completely so, after crossing under one of these waterfalls.

"Greetings Messere," one of the waiting men said formally, offering a small bow of acknowledgment. "Master Senecus has seen to it that you and your party be escorted safely to his villa. It is just a short walk outside of the main city."

The man, one of Senecus' guards no doubt, glanced briefly at the group in front of him. Danarius, Minara, Fenris, and two other guards stood dripping, as they waited for the man to point out the way. Danarius saw the guard's eyes widen as he finally took in Fenris completely. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the reaction, his little wolf was worth his weight in shock value alone.

"Wonderful. Your master's hospitality is much appreciated after our voyage," he responded, causing the slave to tear his gaze from the elf. The messenger had been successful in the delivery of his letter then. He had sent a letter warning of his arrival the day before they set sail themselves. He had paid more than he should have to ensure a hasty delivery. It had been worth it, as Senecus had seen to it that his slaves kept an eye on the port for his arrival. The former magister would be waiting for him.

He and Minara walked side by side through the muddy streets of Hercinia without seeing more than a handful of people. Senecus' two guards would steal looks at Fenris when the elf's eyes were down turned, which they often were. He looked the part of a perfectly obedient slave, but Danarius knew that Fenris would not submit as easily as he did, unless he felt that there was truly no other choice. The elf was completely dedicated once he found a cause he deemed worthy. That was why Fenris had killed all of those Fog Warriors despite their hospitality to him after Danarius had returned. Fenris had followed his master's orders even after all of the time he had passed living with them. Danarius was not a fool to mistake where Fenris' loyalty was invested at this moment. Even as he followed him, eyes cast down in subservience. Danarius would not mistake his posture for loyalty. Not until he had taken the memory of The Champion from him. Only then would the little wolf truly be _his_.

They made their way through the iron gates in front of Senecus' villa. It was a two-story estate with clay tile roofing and walls of a pleasant cream-colored stone. The architecture reminded him of the structures he had seen in Antiva. The windows were thin and highly arched. Rows of junipers lined the walk which was paved in stones of a deep reddish hue.

Two enormous arched doors opened simultaneously as the party approached and Senecus emerged from his estate to welcome them. He had aged significantly since they last met. His hair, once a raven-black, was now salt and pepper grey, and grew in a neat semi-circle around his head. Deep creases in his forehead and between his eyes gave him a wizened air. He was opulently dressed as he always had been, this time a velvet-textured robe in a deep scarlet. Gold-chained clasps crossed the chest of the robe, and gold embellishments adorned the sleeves and neckline.

"Welcome old friend," he said, his voice was strong and his speech eloquent, a far cry from the frail-looking body that created it. "I hear you have need of my help, and am glad to offer you my hospitality for the remainder of your stay in Hercinia. I hope you find your accommodations to be suited to your tastes."

"We appreciate your warm welcome, and thank you for your generosity," Danarius replied.

"Let us get out of this wicked weather to make our introductions," he said, glancing at Minara and Fenris in turn. Senecus gestured and turned back into his mansion and the rest of the group made their way down the walk. As Danarius crossed the threshold into the estate, he glanced back at Fenris, who was following with his eyes still on his own feet.

**Fenris**

Dawn was his favorite time of day as of late. It was the only time he had for himself. He would allow himself to think, to feel, and to plan during the early morning hours. Then he wadded those thoughts into a tight ball and buried it beneath his daytime mask of resignation.

Fenris gritted his teeth as he scratched the outline of another letter into his skin until blood trickled down his leg. This morning would be only a taste of the pain to come.

The mages had discussed only vague details of the spell they were planning while he was in the room, but Fenris knew they had discussed even more in whispers. Yesterday, the day of their arrival, had been spent in Senecus' study with only a break for their evening meal. Senecus had assured Danarius that the calculations were ready. This would be the last morning he would have with his memories.

He could not allow himself to forget completely. If he could only read the notes he'd written under the bed on the ship he would be reminded of Danarius' cruelty, of his feelings for Hawke, and that he needed to escape and return to his life in Kirkwall. How would he know to look under the bed? He needed to leave a reminder of some sort for himself to look there. Then he would know he needed to kill Danarius, Minara, Senecus, and everyone around them in order to be safe and ensure that Hawke remained untouched by hired mercenaries back in Kirkwall. He could not risk a hasty attempt before he was sure she was out of danger.

Now was not the time to make that escape. Instead he worked on preserving his memories. There was a chance they might strip him of his clothing for the ritual, as Fenris remembered waking nude after the first time he lost his memories. If this was the case, any note he decided to write to himself and stuff in his clothing would be found. He wouldn't be able to hide a note somewhere in the guest chamber either, since he wouldn't remember where he'd hidden it. He had needed a way to remind himself to look under the bed at the notes scratched in the wood.

The only place he had that was his own, was his body. He could have written something with ink in some hidden crevice of his body, but who knew when he would look there by chance? Then there was the risk of the ink running. If he made the words by scratching them into his skin, it would be painful and he would eventually inspect the area to find the source of the irritation. However, the wounds would have to be made in a place well-hidden from view, even in the nude. As sunlight spilled into their guest chambers, Fenris finished scratching a very short message into his inner thigh.

_under masters bed in ship_

He hoped this would be enough to at least start him in the right direction. He needed it to be. For himself, for his freedom, but mostly for her.

After finishing the painful self-mutilation, he used what was left of the peaceful dawn to relive several of his favorite memories. Knowing he may never see her face again, not even in his mind's eye, was a pain far greater than any he could physically deal himself. He painted his memory of her expression when she had paused their love-making to present him with her favor. Her normally hard exterior, that of their fearless leader, had been replaced by that of a vulnerable, gentle lover. He didn't deserve her, but she wanted him. He would deny her no longer, whether or not he felt deserving of it, she had chosen him. This particular recollection had been the fuel he used to push through the most difficult times since he had left Kirkwall. What would he have without her? He would truly be a slave, not just in title, but in purpose.

His time with his own thoughts was far too short. After Danarius woke, the morning passed as each one had aboard _Andoral's Mercy_. Fenris trailed Danarius and his wife, tending to their needs, keeping his head low, and his face unreadable. He answered only 'yes master' and 'no master' as required and never let his emotions surface. He would not give the magister the pleasure of seeing how incredibly terrified he really was.

Soon, the appointed time arrived and several armored guards came to escort him to the tower. He had not gone with the mages yesterday to see this particular part of the villa, but he assumed it was the place where Senecus conducted his filthy blood magic.

As they neared a tight spiral staircase, Fenris felt his heart jump suddenly. This was the last moment he had as himself. He should run now. There was only Danarius, Minara, and the two guards and Fenris thought he had a chance of slaughtering all of them before a single one knew what happened. He should run to save himself. He could... but he wouldn't. He had another to protect. It was a feeling so new to him still. His need for self-preservation was completely overruled when he imagined her silenced, and tied to a chair, beaten. If he murdered them now, Danarius' web of messengers would most certainly send word to Kirkwall that Hawke must be killed. He knew that Danarius had loyalists back in Tevinter that would trail him until he was murdered, as well.

He would have to endure this.

Danarius must have seen his hesitation, because he turned then, reminding him who was in control by making his markings prickle from his feet up to his chin. "Come along my pet."

At the top of the winding staircase was a windowless room with walls made of rough masonry. Crossing through the doorway, Fenris was met by an immediate wave of nausea. The stench of magic, blood, and moldy death stuck to the air like a thick paste. He had to reach out for the stonework of the entrance to keep from stumbling. A large desk stood along one side of the room holding at least a dozen candles that sent their flickering light into every corner. Glowing vials, sharp metal tools, and ancient books and scrolls littered the rest of the table. A slight human, no more than thirteen or fourteen lay strapped and gagged to a table on the other side of the space. He should run. This poor girl was about to become a sacrifice. For him.

His thoughts were interrupted by an unseen hand clamping around his throat. An icy stream of energy seemed to wind its way around his adam's apple, then moved upward to stab at his tongue and lips. All the while, his markings burned, a furious blazing heat at odds with the stark icy cold of the other spell. Then he saw Senecus, hunched over an empty table in the corner, his onyx eyes as frigid as the sorcery he had weaved around his neck. The former magister was smiling, as though Fenris were nothing but a new challenge to overcome.

"Come now Senecus, let us begin," Danarius interrupted. Perhaps Danarius was not comfortable with anyone but himself torturing his pet. "You are ready, aren't you my little wolf?"

Fenris said 'Yes master' but found that he had only been able to think the words. His lips had not formed the shape and no sound had come from him despite the attempt.

The grinning mage gave a wild cackle, which was more akin to the raucous _caw-caw_ of an alarmed crow, than a human laugh. "It seems the elf is at a loss for words."

Senecus gestured to the guards to lead Fenris to an empty table in the middle of the room. Instinct took over then and he began to struggle, but found that the burning heat trailing through his lyrium veins had sapped his strength. His limbs were heavy as though he had swung his greatsword for days with no rest. They had him completely in the hold of their magic now. Fenris closed his eyes and gave in, he felt the sting of the message he had written on his inner thigh and clung to the pain of it, instead of the horrifying scene around him.

Fenris felt the pressure of the leather straps against his legs as they were buckled around him. First his lower body, then his torso, then his arms, and a final strap for his head. They left his armor on. They would have no need to access his markings in their entirety for this particular ritual. Fenris should have gambled and left himself a note in his armor. It was too late for regret. There was no time.

He tried to imagine her then, as he lay dizzy and nauseated, completely helpless. He still had her face.

_Her hair fell over her eye again, and he tucked it behind her ear gently. She looked up at him from under those long lashes._

A clammy hand forced his mouth open and spilled a potion into his mouth. His body heaved as he gagged on the putrid concoction, but the cold spell of control forced him to swallow.

_She was smiling, then. The wry smile she always offered along with a teasing word for him. He heard her laugh, the tinkling carefree giggle of an innocent, at odds with her role as the hardened leader. He would give anything to hear it again. _

His blood felt as though it were boiling as the smothering coil of ice inched toward the base of his skull. He heard two male voices chanting something unfamiliar. It could have been in Arcanum, but it sounded strangely foreign. A female voice joined the recitation and he was sure his flesh was being torn from his bones as the lyrium reacted to this new onslaught.

_She begged him not to go then, her wide eyes teary and pleading. "But we can work through this," she offered. The hurt was painted on her face as he gave some pathetic apology and turned away from her._

Then he heard the muffled screams of the girl who had lived her short life to be nothing but a blood sacrifice. The metallic stench of her vital fluids began to swirl around him and soon the cries quieted and he could hear nothing but the drone of the magisters lost in their incantations.

_"I understand. I always understood." Her lips were soft, and her kisses fevered. She wanted him as much as he had wanted her. The thought drove him into a frenzy of passion he didn't know he was capable of. The taste of her kisses, woodsy and sweet. Wildflowers. His mother in the field. He gave her a bouquet. The swirling memory faded. He was back with Hawke, a knot of desire winding in the core of his body. He needed her. He tasted her again. The forest, cinnamon._

Blood. _She was screaming. _He was screaming. _Her eyes winced in pain. He lost his grip on her hand. _His heart was pounding in his chest so that he felt every beat. He heard the blood flow in his ears with each pulse, a loud whoosh, the only reminder he was still alive. _She was torn from him. He gasped her name with his last breath. _The frozen splinters that were lodged in the back of his head seemed to explode and he shuddered, his whole body moving with the force of the icy flare. The fog came then, caressing his tired body, tempting him with the peaceful darkness, and he gave in.


	14. A Reflection

**Fenris**

Someone was talking far off, in the other room maybe? It was just a whisper. More voices joined, one by one. They were breathy and chatty and more and more and more of them came. They all had something to say, but nothing was understood and then the sound was a cacophony of tones, whispers, and melodic humming. There was hissing and buzzing and a hundred different words spoken. Then the pain stabbed him viciously and he woke with a start. The piercing cold in the back of his head, spread out across his skin. He opened his eyes.

A bearded man with grey hair and pale grey-blue eyes was standing over him, smiling. Who was this man? Where was he? He tried to sit up, but he was weak and couldn't even lift his head. A stabbing pain shot through his core. The room started spinning.

"Easy now, Fenris. You've had quite the accident. You are lucky to have come out of this with only some memory loss," the man said.

Fenris. Was that him? It felt right, Fenris. He said the name silently to himself, testing it.

"Who are you?" his own voice rumbled low and raspy, he was thirsty and his throat dry.

"I am your master, Fenris. My name is Danarius," the man spoke softly to him, as if he was a delicate child. Danarius reached out to him and ran his hands through his hair. "We've always been quite fond of each other. It saddens me deeply that you don't remember me."

He was a slave then. Fenris felt sorry for the man who he should remember.

"How did this happen? Why can't I remember?"

"You will remember many things, Fenris. You still have all of your memories for how things are done, for anything you practiced. You are still a marvelous swordsman and my trusted bodyguard," Danarius kept his voice just above a whisper, which was kind because his head was pounding with every beat of his heart. "We had to perform a ritual which had the unfortunate consequence of erasing your memories. A wicked mage from Kirkwall tried to bend you to her will and twist your mind and we could not allow that to happen."

His head was now swimming with questions along with the dizziness he had woken up to. He propped himself up on his elbows, moving very slowly, as the strange burning sensation running in streams through his body gradually died down. Fenris looked down at his arms, then his hands, and saw whitish tattoos of some kind meandering across his skin. He turned his arms over one way, then the other.

"Striking aren't they?" Danarius remarked, moving to sit next to him on the table. "That is lyrium branded into your skin. It gives you great power on the battlefield. You competed against many able men for those markings, Fenris, and you won."

Fenris and his master sat for a few moments until he broke the silence. "What am I to do?"

"You are to do as I command, as always my little wolf," the man's eyes burned their will into his with a strange power. This man spoke tenderly but there was so much intensity behind his gaze. So many questions stirred now, that there was no hope of finding the answers.

"Come, you should look upon yourself," Danarius said as he rose from the table.

Fenris struggled to his feet despite the swelling dizziness that threatened to leave him flat on the stone floor. His head ached with every bobbing step he took, but the fire under his skin had seemed to burn out. All that remained was an itchy stinging on his upper thigh. It chaffed against his armor as he walked, increasing in intensity with each step he took as they descended a spiral staircase into a great hall below.

They rounded a corner and turned into the first room off of the hall. At the far end was an enormous looking-glass encased in a fine gilded wood frame. Fenris faced the mirror and looked upon himself in his entirety. He was an elf. Not human as his master. His hair, strands of pure silver, laid sloppily over one of his dark brows. Green eyes, a lithe, though noticeably muscular build, and armor cut to show his markings finished the portrait. He realized he was gaping at himself, and tried his best to tighten up and look less horrified.

"Does your body not please you, my pet?" Danarius said in that honeyed voice.

"It is… not what I expected," he admitted.

"That is the beauty of it, Fenris. You are quite unique. And valuable I might add."

Fenris had no response to that. Although he had no personal memories, he was no fool. He knew enough to realize what people should look like. Enough to know that he would be a strange sight to anyone.

Danarius sat himself neatly in a silky-looking chair in the corner and opened a book in his lap, leaving Fenris with nothing to do but stare at himself. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, since he couldn't seem to tear himself away from the reflection. They stayed that way for the good part of an hour. He could see his master over his shoulder making notes here and there in the margins of the pages, but mostly he focused on himself.

It was a strange feeling to know that he had lived close to three decades on this earth and couldn't recognize his own face. Three decades seemed about right. He figured somewhere between twenty-five to thirty years, but it was hard to be sure. Elves aged differently than humans, he knew that much. There was so much that he didn't know, though. He didn't know his birthday. He let that thought creep around for a moment, before he took a few steps back from the mirror.

"I know this is difficult, Fenris," Danarius finally said. "But you will learn to trust me in time. You will rediscover your purpose." With that he slapped the book shut and turned toward the door. "For now it is enough for you to know that you are my most trusted bodyguard. You will follow at my side and accompany me wherever my business takes me."

"Of course," Fenris said, not feeling as though he had much choice in the matter. He had no memories and he was a slave.

"You are also to address me properly, as your master."

"My apologies, Master."

"You are forgiven. It is not your fault that you forget your place when you have only just rediscovered it," Danarius said, his voice dripped sweetly, but his face was a hard mask that revealed nothing. His new master was a very difficult man to read.

As they entered the hall again, a woman came from the other side of the great room. "Fenris, this is my wife, Minara. You were quite fond of her as well," he said gesturing across the room to a petite woman with shoulder-length hair as shiny and black as polished obsidian. She wore a face of stone to match and did not lighten her expression at the introduction.

"Greetings, Mistress," Fenris said, trying to sound less tired than he was.

A dull throbbing headache was still making it difficult to keep his eyes open. Whatever accident he'd had was taking its toll as the hours passed.

"You look a mess, Fenris. Some bodyguard he will make if he falls asleep at your side," Minara smirked at Danarius.

"It _is _getting late. He was unconscious for hours, but I imagine it was not a very restful state."

Fenris thought he saw Danarius cast Minara a quick laughing glance, but it was gone as soon as he had seen it.

"Maybe we could all use an early night," his master suggested. "I will meet you upstairs my love, I need a moment with Senecus to discuss today's events. Fenris, you may accompany Minara to the privy," he nodded to Minara.

His master turned left and his mistress right. The privy was at the far side of the estate. It was accessible both from the inside and from the outside garden of the grounds. Minara visited the private toilet first and took care of her duties before he was allowed to relieve himself. He had wanted to check his thigh to see what was causing the pain when he walked. Once behind the curtain, he stripped his lower armor off and by the candlelight was able to see red markings on the inside of his leg. It did not look like a rough cut or scrape, however. It was too precise.

Fenris propped his leg up on the seat while he twisted the flesh of his leg to face the light more directly. It was then that he saw that the meticulous scratches actually spelled out a phrase.

_under masters bed in ship_

What was under the bed? Fenris desperately wished that whoever had scratched these words into his skin had left more to go on. Fenris could only hang his hope on the fact that this was a worthwhile clue and not some cruel trick. The placement of the note was very personal, he had to admit. He thought if someone meant to trick him that they wouldn't have bothered putting it on his inner thigh, his arm would have done just as well. There would only be one way to know. He would need to find whatever ship his master had and check under the bed. Whatever was there was all he had besides his Master and Mistress.

The sloshing of footsteps outside came very close. Then a loud _thump_.

Fenris finished his business, pulled up his trousers, and readied himself to leave the privy, making sure to look as exhausted and hopeless as when he left it.

**Hawke**

Hawke huddled under her cloak and leaned against the bark of the tree they were seeking shelter below. This had been their post outside of Senecus's villa since they had arrived hours ago. At least Isabela had been successful with her stealth surveillance since they had made port. A fisherman had disclosed the location of Senecus's estate, and they'd been waiting outside for a good time to attack. Isabela would leave for a few minutes at a time, then come to report what she found. There hadn't been anyone visible for the first few hours, Hawke had assumed they were all in one of the towers somewhere removed from the main rooms of the estate. About an hour ago, though, Isabela said that Fenris and Danarius had descended the stairs and retreated to a smaller room off of the main hall. Her heart had jumped into her throat and remained lodged there since Isabela's last report.

She fidgeted with the cuff of her robe, then reached into her pocket to finger the familiar swatch of silky fabric she kept there. She closed her eyes and thanked the Maker again that he was still alive.

Suddenly, Isabela was beside her. Hawke hadn't even heard her slip in between her and Varric.

"The woman just went into the outhouse. I swear Hawke, the places you send me." The rogue let out a carefree giggle, as though she were cozy with an ale in one hand and a bar patron's rear in the other. Isabela could seem comfortable anywhere. Hawke wished she could be as ignorant of their current circumstances. They'd arrived in Hercinia at the tail end of a storm that had been raging for days and she was a tight mess of nervousness.

"Where is the outhouse? Who is the woman?" Hawke asked. "Minara?"

"Yeah, she and Fenris are on one side of the estate, out by the toilet that way," she gestured to the west entrance. "I didn't see Danarius, but I assume he went back to meet Senecus in the tower."

"We need to hurry then, this may be the only time they are separated." Hawke's voice had lost the cool composure she had held all day. It now held an edge of panic. "You, Varric, and Varania go to the tower. You will need the three of you in case they hear a scuffle and try to come down. Just hold them off until I can get Fenris. Then we'll take them down all together."

Hawke was already running in the direction Isabela had come when she heard Varric call to her, "What about Minara?"

"If I hurry, I can let Fenris kill her with her smallclothes still around her ankles!"

The rain pelted her face as she sprinted toward the west side of the estate where Isabela had reported she had seen Minara and Fenris. The large oaks surrounding the estate gave her some cover as she followed the candlelight to the outhouse at the side of the manor. She didn't see anyone directly, but it looked as though someone was holding a candle in the outhouse.

Then something icy snaked over her mouth, choking her breath, and settled into the back of her head. The stifling block of ice that kept her from screaming was strangely familiar. She wheeled around to see her perpetrator standing in the garden, moonlight highlighting the raindrops that streamed over her hair. Minara.


	15. Stirrings

**Hawke**

Hawke tried to move her lips to begin an incantation, but found that she was unable to even think the words. The icy touch in her mind throbbed and it was as she feared. She was silenced.

Hawke drew her dagger from her robes and charged toward Minara. The mage was quick though, and dashed through the door into the estate. She trailed her into a lavishly furnished sitting room, following muddy footprints to a corner behind a tall changing screen.

She peered around the opaque screen, expecting to dodge a spell head on. Instead, she was blasted with one from the other side of the room that hit her directly. When the magic made contact, her blood felt like it was boiling within her veins. Hawke weakened as her own heartbeat caused the taint to tear through her flesh. Through the haze of pain she saw the gore dribbling down Minara's wrists. Blood magic. The crimson drops mixed with the rain dripping from her wet hair and robes and formed a gruesome puddle at her feet.

Hawke looked up and found Minara's eyes, clouded with the frenzy of power she was caught in. The blood mage met her gaze, a wicked smile unraveling across her features as she held both hands palms up at the sides of her body, and a dark energy began swirling around the room. Hollow-eyed shades began to materialize from whirlpools of dark smoke that opened up across the floorboards. Hawke did not wait to see them fully summoned before she made one last charge toward the sorceress.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him then. Hawke breathed a sigh of relief as he fought the shades with his bare hands. Over Minara's shoulder she saw the first shade go down as Fenris got control over his lyrium markings and thrust a fist through it. A moment later, a sickening shriek pierced the thick air around them and she saw a second shade slump to the floor. He was moving closer, fighting his way to them. Hawke knew that an entire room of shades would be no match for her and Fenris, even unarmed. She just needed to deal with Minara.

She tore her eyes from Fenris and slashed, side-armed at the woman, but she got no closer than two arms lengths before she was forced back, hit with an invisible club in the gut. When she found her balance again, Hawke tore the staff from her back, and heaved it at the blood mage. Minara reeled sideways and Hawke used the opportunity to fling her blade at the woman. She silently thanked Isabela for the hours of practice with her throwing knives, as her dagger stuck neatly into Minara's side. Not a killing blow, but enough to slow her down.

Hawke grabbed the first thing that looked heavy, a bronze candelabra on a nearby table, and threw herself at Minara. The candelabra came down over the surprised mage's head and she collapsed in a pile of blood, flesh, and robes.

Hawke didn't have time to feel relieved, as an abomination twice her size, skated toward her. The creature's wiry fingers curled and uncurled as it moved in her direction. The soulless eyes of the monster were unwavering as it readied its left arm, pulling backward at its shoulder to gather force with which to deal a blow. Hawke prepared to dodge left as it came, but she never had to.

A familiar arm, with gorgeous blue trails blazing on its skin, sprung through the abomination's chest. The fist opened and then closed once more as the hand retreated back through the demon's body. The smell of magic and demon blood was heavy in the air around her as the creature's body dropped, allowing her to look upon Fenris completely.

He raised his chin to look upon her. They locked eyes, but something was wrong. He was standing as though poised for battle. His body was hunched just slightly, the way he always carried himself when they were walking through Lowtown at night. His hands were balled fists of energy wound tight ready to explode on her. His green eyes were wide, calculating her next move. He was staring right at her, but he didn't really see her. She was a stranger.

"Fenris, I-"

This was all she managed before he had launched himself at her. He dealt her a blow to the side as she tried to dodge a gauntleted fist coming right at her chest. A sickening crunch and a surge of agony, and she was certain he had broken a rib or two. Fenris wheeled around, gaining leverage for another swing. She tried to escape the impact, but her reflexes were affected by the blood magic, and it seemed she couldn't move fast enough. He caught her on the side of the face near her eye with one fist, and managed a kick to her chest that sent her tumbling to the ground. Her back hit the hard wooden flooring with so much force that it knocked the wind out of her.

When she was finally able to suck in another breath he was on top of her. He had one of her arms pinned at her side and the other above her head. Fenris was about her height, but he was far more physically powerful. Unable to cast a spell, Hawke was absolutely helpless against his more muscular warrior's build.

How ironic that a week ago she would have given anything to be this close to him. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel his hot breath against the skin of her exposed neck. She was painfully aware of the closeness of his hard body against hers. She wanted so much to make him remember how they had hungered for each other. She wanted for him to hold her this way with the excitement of arousal between them. Instead, Hawke wrestled with adrenaline caused by the fear of her own death. She had to make him remember.

Before she had a chance to speak, his low, growling demand cut through the tension. "Who are you, mage?"

"It's me, Fenris! It's Hawke. It's Marian," she said, trying to steady her voice. If she acted as though she had nothing to fear, maybe he would be convinced of her relationship with him. "I know they wiped your memory of me, but you care for me. We care about each other, Fenris."

Her words sounded jumbled in her own ear as they always did when they really mattered. Hawke tried to keep herself together, but the weight of Fenris on her was beginning to be uncomfortable and a searing torment from her ribs flared whenever he shifted above her. He was grinding her arms into the hard wood, not letting up while she tried to explain herself.

"My master warned me about an evil mage from Kirkwall who tried to manipulate me," Fenris tightened his grasp on her wrists. He repositioned her, bringing one knee to hold her left arm in place at her side, freeing his hand to draw a bloody dagger from his waistband. _Her_ bloody dagger freshly pulled from Minara. "Tell me the truth," he threatened. "Who are you?"

Hawke felt the cold steel press against the skin of her throat, and she pleaded with him for her life. "Fenris, I'm telling you the truth. I travelled all of this way to try to save you. Danarius is a vile magister and that woman on the floor is his wife. They tore us apart, used me as bait, and you gave up your freedom to try to keep me safe," her voice was weak and her eyes welled with tears as she recounted the week's events.

"You could be lying. My master said I was nothing but a slave and that I was fond of him," Fenris said.

"It is true that you were once a slave, but you were building a life in Kirkwall as a free citizen. Danarius came back to claim you as his property once again. I couldn't let it happen, I care about you, Fenris."

His cold gaze didn't soften as she prattled on. Her words were failing her again. They were failing her both and she knew it. She had to try something else.

Hawke used the last of the energy from her weakened body and pushed against Fenris's hold, forcing her lips against his in an unexpected passionate kiss. The taste of his lips was the same, earth and salt and spices, and it triggered a renewed sense of immediacy within her. She felt him respond against her only for a moment before he pulled back, shaking his head.

But the sharpness in his stare had softened and she knew she had stirred something within him. The claws of his gauntlets were no longer cutting into the flesh of her right arm. He continued to glare at her, but he moved the dagger a few inches away from her neck. She needed to use this moment.

Hawke steadied her voice and began with confidence. "I have something of yours in my pocket. I gave it to you after we first made love three years ago, Fenris. I want you to have it back. It is tucked into a gift you gave to me before Danarius took you away."

"If this is a trick, your blood will soil this fancy rug," he hissed.

"Fenris, please," she said. "You have to trust me. Just let me show you."

"Which pocket? I will retrieve it, don't move," he warned.

"It's in the outside pocket at my right hip," Hawke said.

Fenris readjusted his hold on her again. He grabbed her left wrist that he had been holding down with his knee, and brought it over her head next to her other hand. How pathetic that he could pin both of her wrists over her head using just one of his hands. She may have been able to wriggle free then, but she was so weak from the magical onslaught and the pain in her ribs, that she wasn't sure what good could come with a struggle. She decided to submit to his hold, gambling on this last maneuver, instead. Fenris thrust his hand into her pocket to retrieve the cherished items she kept there.

**Fenris**

Her taste was still on his lips, the tang of pine and flowery ocean water, and he had wanted to kiss her back. This mage had knocked his mistress unconscious and he wanted nothing more than to explore the depths of her. This was more than a little disconcerting.

She had tears in her eyes now and a nasty bruise forming from his beating. She hadn't struggled at all since he had pinned her there. Definitely not the reaction of an enemy. She didn't blink as he pulled a small book with a piece of scarlet fabric tucked between the pages, from the pocket of her robe.

A rush of warmth coursed through him. Her taste, the red scarf, her eyes, and suddenly he was keenly aware of this mage's body underneath his. She was soft and yielding as she lay crushed beneath his weight. She had not tried to fight him and with this new feeling building within him, he wasn't sure he wanted to fight her, either. He could think of some other things he wanted...

He narrowed his eyes suddenly and strengthened his hold on her again, pushing such thoughts away. This had to be blood magic. He'd already witnessed his mistress summon a troupe of demons to fight for her. This mage below him could be controlling his emotions. Perhaps she had the power to control his desire.

"Look on the inside cover. You gave this book to me before Danarius tore us apart," the woman was all but whimpering now.

He discovered his reading was slow, but he read each word of the inscription out loud.

_ The chains are broken_

_ but are you truly free?_

_ The answer is no,_

_ for I am yours, eternally._

What if it wasn't blood magic? Could she really be trying to spark memories of a relationship they had shared? That's when it struck him. The handwriting. The penmanship was sharp, no curvy tails or flourishes. It also lacked a certain polished quality and looked like the pen had rested too long in one place in the middle of several words. He couldn't help compare it to the message he had seen on his thigh. What if he had written this along with the note to himself on his leg?

_under masters bed in ship_

Fenris knew what he needed to do. He needed to know for sure who this woman was. He needed a clue about who to trust and the only way to get that was aboard Danarius's ship. If he had written himself a note, he needed to follow it now when he needed the direction most. Even if it was a trick, he had to know.

"Get up," he ordered.

He never let go of the mage's wrists as he led her to a side room. If Minara were to wake, he didn't want the two to kill each other until he could figure out whose side he was on. He put her hands behind her back and used the red scarf to tie them to a chair with wooden slats. He tucked the small book back in her pocket and took a step back.

"Which direction is the port? If you tell the truth, and you really are who you say, there may be something there to help me remember. If you are lying about who you are and you lead me in the wrong direction, your death will be most unpleasant," he warned.

"I'll show you. Just take me with you," she begged him.

Fenris could no longer look into her eyes. She gazed at him with an earnest longing so intense that it threatened to crumble his resolve right there. He still felt the faint stirrings of his own desire, his body pushing closer to this woman. Instead, he ignored her request to accompany him to the ship and repeated his question. He listened to her describe the location of the port, which was only three or four minutes away if he were to sprint. She described her ship and a few others that she had seen in the port. She detailed one particular vessel with white sails that was finely decorated which she guessed belonged to Danarius.

He stole one last glance at Marian Hawke and rushed toward the side door of the villa. He ran through the moonlight, the sound of his footsteps and breathing completely drowned out by the buzz of his racing thoughts.


	16. Bound

**Hawke**

Hawke sat bound to a chair, silenced and helpless, again. This time she was bound by the very fabric that had been symbolic of her feelings for Fenris. The bitter irony mingled with the pain of blood magic, broken bones, and the sting of tears that pressed behind her eyes. He had used the sash to tie her up after he had beaten her. She kept imagining those icy green eyes and the way they had looked right through her. She had been a stranger to him. This hurt far worse than any broken rib he could cause. But it did give her hope that he had begun to soften noticeably before he tied her up. Maybe she had only imagined him responding to her kiss. Either way, he had run off to do Maker knows what back at the port.

She was supposed to be the Champion of Kirkwall, but it seemed like she did a whole lot of waiting to be rescued lately. Hawke was sick of waiting. She pulled her arms apart behind her with every bit of strength she had, trying again in hopes that she could stretch the fabric just enough to wriggle one of her wrists through. She twisted and rubbed and jerked her arms around, but nothing would give. Her wrists were raw from the continued effort.

She wasn't sure how long she had sat there, but just after Fenris bolted out the door, she had heard a rustle from the sitting room. She heard a woman groan, then chant an unfamiliar spell. A moment later she had been just able to make out the labored shuffling of feet moving in the direction Fenris had run. She assumed that Minara had gone to bring him back. That had been quite a few minutes ago. She didn't have much time to get out of this before Minara returned with Fenris. Hawke wasn't sure she had done enough to ensure that he wouldn't kill her if ordered to. She needed to find her other companions.

Hawke's head ached and the soreness in her side seemed to spread out like fingers squeezing sharp nails into her flesh every time she breathed. She gritted her teeth and started moving. She scooted herself, chair and all, toward the entrance of the small side room she was in. She peered around the corner slowly. She did not want to encounter Danarius while in her particular predicament, but she needed to alert her friends that she was there.

After some practice, she managed to find a way to walk in a hunched position with the chair on her back. If she could only find something sharp, she might be able to get a good angle to cut the tie from her wrists.

The lightest of footfalls down the hallway caused her to freeze. There were doors along the hall, but they were all closed. She had no way to open them and she was in plain view. She cursed under her breath, wheeled around, chair and all, and headed back to the end of the hall as fast as she could waddle.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she reached a corner out of view and peered around to see who had approached. Varania was creeping down the hallway, looking incredibly conspicuous despite her obvious attempt to remain hidden.

"Varania! Here!" she whispered.

The red-haired woman ran to her then, a smile of relief claiming her features.

"Thank the Maker," she sighed. "I've been wandering around these halls trying to warn you-"

"Warn me?" she interruped.

"Yes, when we finally found Senecus he was not in the tower with Danarius. He was in a small building separate from the main villa, and Danarius was nowhere to be found," Varania explained.

"Where's Varric and Isabela?" she asked.

"They said they could handle Senecus, but when they saw that Danarius wasn't with them, they worried about your odds against Minara and Danarius alone," Varania said. "They said I should come back and help you."

The elf had already begun untying the scarf keeping Hawke in the chair. When she succeeded, she held the piece of fabric up in front of her, one eyebrow cocked in a silent question.

"Is this?" she asked.

"Yes. Fenris has already had his memory removed. We were too late. He didn't remember me and tied me up with it after I tried to help him remember. Then, he ran off somewhere saying he needed to find something at the port."

Varania handed her the red sash gently. "It will be alright. I know he'll remember. I studied that spell over and over on the ship and I'm certain we can remove it. It has only been a few hours since the ritual."

Hawke wasn't so sure, but she wasn't willing to waste time feeling sorry about it. "Let's find Danarius before Minara gets back. She went to bring Fenris back and the last thing we need is to fight two crazed magisters together."

They crept through the large sitting room on the west side of the villa toward the more populated eastern corridors. Varania explained she had seen many more servants on this side of the estate. Hawke heard footsteps around the corner and suddenly remembered that even if they did encounter someone, she still had a silencing spell on her. She quickly grabbed Varania by the wrist and opened a closet door off of the hallway.

"What is it?" Varania whispered.

"Get in, I need you to do something first," she tried to explain.

The footsteps were getting closer. Hawke pulled the elf by the wrist into the dark closet. She couldn't see what was in the closet, but she guessed it was meant to hold linens or servant's supplies of some sort. All she could see were the red and gold imprints of light left on her eyes as they danced in the darkness.

When the footsteps made their way past, she spoke. "Minara silenced me. Can you remove it?"

"I think so," Varania replied, uncertainty winding its way around each of her words.

"Please," she whispered. It was more for herself than for Varania. She needed her spells if they were going to come out of this alive. Magic for her was like a sword for a warrior. She had allowed herself to be unarmed twice by these magisters. She wished she had been better prepared to fight Tevinter mages, but she'd had no experiences with them before. Their brand of blood magic was strange to her. She vowed when this was all over to seek Anders's counsel, talk to Orsino, do whatever it took to understand this type of magic, so she would never fall victim to it again.

The sour iron smell of blood drifted around the crowded space and she heard Varania begin an unfamiliar chant. She was keenly aware of the icy core of energy at the base of her skull as Varania began to unravel it. First it didn't seem to budge, but as Varania's chanting grew louder, the cold spot began to swirl gently. Part of the energy seemed to spread up toward her forehead and the other part flooded down her spine until she was left with only goosebumps.

She took Varania by the shoulders. "Thank you."

"It worked," Varania marveled.

Hawke couldn't help but chuckle. Fenris's sister was skilled, but hadn't had much practice. She truly didn't know what she was capable of.

"It did," she nodded in the dark. "Let's find Danarius."

**Danarius**

Minara had been gone for at least twenty minutes by the time he decided to see where she was. He found it difficult to muster the energy to push his body from the luxurious silky bedding, but using both hands he rose with a heavy outward breath. Senecus had made sure he and Minara would be comfortable during their stay and with the much anticipated events of the day finished, he could finally relax and enjoy the villa's more exquisite trappings. And he would, just as soon as he found Minara.

She and Fenris had only gone to the toilet after all and should have been only a few minutes. He had gone to thank Senecus briefly and to discuss how well the memory suppression spell had worked. He'd made it to tower only to find that Senecus had already moved to a small detached building off the north side of the estate. One of the guards had led him to his friend and they'd exchanged brief words before Danarius had retired to the guest chambers.

"Danarius! Danarius come quickly!" It was Minara's voice coming from down the hall, breathless and panicked.

Danarius closed the distance between himself and the door of the guest chambers and ran the length of the hall toward the source of his wife's call.

"Danarius!"

He gasped when he saw her. Minara had blood trailing from the top of her head down the side of her cheek, and more scarlet trails running down her wrists. She had Fenris in the throes of agony, wrenched over at the waist, as she caused his lyrium markings to surge with magic. His hands were behind his back, secured with blood bindings, Minara's favorite means of controlling her prisoners.

"What in all of Thedas is this madness?" Danarius boomed.

"She is here!" Minara screamed, the high pitched wail of a woman possessed.

"Who is here? Calm down or Senecus-"

"Let Senecus hear! He will want to know that the Champion of Kirkwall has come to try to kill us! She nearly killed me already! And your precious wolf slunk off to hide from the fight!" Minara said, her voice still as shrill as when she first began.

He shot a questioning glance at the elf that was now on his knees, breathing heavily after his wife's punishment. "Fenris?"

"I'm sorry, Master. The mage was frightening, and there were shades everywhere. I thought my Mistress was dead and that I would be punished for letting her fall," Fenris's eyes were pleading. Danarius hoped this streak of cowardice was only a momentary side effect of fatigue and stress. It had to be, for Fenris was anything but a coward. Rash, reckless, maybe... but a coward?

Minara scowled at Fenris, her cheeks flushed with rage. "I followed muddy footprints out the door thinking they were the Champion's and trailed them a few minutes to the dock where a fisherman pointed me in the right direction. I found Fenris cowering under the bed on _Andoral's Mercy_ of all places. Hiding like a child with a candle in the dark!"

"If the tracks you followed were made by Fenris, then where is the Champion?"

"She is here, in this Villa, I am sure of it." Minara hissed.

He turned his head back to Fenris. "My little wolf, I hope you have learned your lesson," he said. Danarius was careful to sound disappointed, but remained calm. He would take this opportunity to play the part of the merciful master. Fenris's mind was so pliable this soon after having his memories erased. He would use every opportunity to build his bodyguard's loyalty.

Fenris looked at his feet in submission. "Yes, Master."

He gestured for Fenris to rise and come to his side. Minara shot him a disapproving glance.

When Fenris had joined him, he looked hard into the elf's eyes. "We will need your help to bring this wicked mage to justice, for she was the one who tried to twist your mind before, and will now need to be dealt with. You must never again leave our side, or the punishment will be... less forgiving."

He wondered why the elf had run to the port. Could he have retained his memories of the layout of Hercinia? This would be worth a discussion after the Champion was dealt with.

Danarius chanted a healing spell and directed it toward Minara who stood a few paces in front of him. He willed Minara's flesh to close over the wound that she had tried hastily to heal herself.

He had just turned his attention to work on releasing Fenris's bindings when Minara was thrown violently against a huge picture window by an invisible blast. He heard her scream as the window shattered around her. The last shards of glass tinkled around his wife's body mixing with rain and blood. She did not stir.

In a rage, Danarius rushed to put Fenris between himself and whoever had attacked his wife. Hawke. Magic still swirled around her hands and she stood confidently in the doorway. Varania was just off to her side. He grabbed a dagger from his robes, and sliced his wrists to channel the power from his own life blood. Then he held the dagger to Fenris's neck. He was sure to keep the elf's lyrium markings burning to remind Fenris who was in control.

"Do not move, or you sacrifice your precious plaything!" Danarius warned. He still had his leverage, and he would not allow the Champion to forget it, even if she had managed to take him by surprise.

Her face hardened into a scowl at his words, but before she could react, he was communing with the demons nearby, willing them to whisper his own will to the Champion. He imagined the tendrils of magic as the fingers of demons, probing deep into her mind. His blood flowed into power as he saw the mind control take hold. Her eyes widened into the familiar empty orbs of one under his influence and he spoke his demands into her.

_"Kill Varania. Now."_

With no warning, the Champion's cold fury was unleashed against Varania. An arc of lightning flew from her fingertips and the red-haired elf crashed to the floor. The Champion whirled around, grabbing a shard of glass that had fallen near her feet, and charged the elf. Varania's eyes grew wide with horror as she watched the Champion approach, emotionless, wielding the glass dagger.

From her back, Varania gathered herself to attempt a counterspell to the mind control, but the Champion interrupted it with ease. She didn't lose a step in the process.

"Please, Hawke!" Varania begged.

Varania's cries were cut short as the Champion knelt over her, drawing a quick, neat line across her throat with the shard of glass. The blood ran down the sides of her neck, a sharp contrast against the elf's fair milky complexion and Varania was still.

A satisfied smile crept across his face as he prepared for this final confrontation. Danarius knew he had the Champion, now. She would not kill Fenris and he was the one with the elf's loyalty this time. The Champion was too late. He wasn't sure if Minara could be healed. The Champion must suffer for this. And she would suffer... at the hands of the one she loved.

Danarius removed the blood bindings from Fenris's arms and pulled the dagger away from his neck. He let his influence drop away from the Champion so that she would experience the pain of what was to come.

"Now my little pet, you will deal with this vile sorceress once and for all," he ordered. "Kill her."


	17. Loyalty

**Hawke**

The haze of Danarius's spell finally pulled away like a curtain being drawn. Clarity returned to her thoughts, cutting through the darkness like sharp rays of sunshine. As his hold on her subsided she became aware of her blood crashing through her veins. She was sweating more than she ever had on the hottest day in Ferelden. She had to try to control her panic. But Varania was dead, and with it, any hope of removing the spell keeping Fenris from his memories. Dead by her own hand. She would see that look of terror in Varania's eyes again and again she was sure, but she'd had no choice. The time for guilt would come, but it would have to be later.

Now, Fenris had been ordered to kill her and Hawke wasn't sure she could bring herself to hurt him, even if it was in her own defense. If she could just get Danarius alone, she might be able to take him down before Fenris could retaliate. Maybe she should just stun them both and run to get Varric and Isabela's help. Fenris took a step toward her, and she began the incantation for a stunning spell.

She cut it short when she saw something unexpected in his eyes. They were not the eyes of a hardened killer taking orders. There was no aggression there. The wrinkles between his brows reminded her of how he looked when they were working on his reading lessons or while he was betting during wicked grace. He was planning something and the wild confusion from earlier was completely gone.

Then it was there and it was perfectly amazing. The corner of just one side of his mouth pulled back to indicate that she was in no danger. It was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. His forehead wrinkled, questioning, asking her to understand his silent intent to do her no harm. She understood.

Fenris had been careful to allow her to see it only when his back was turned to Danarius, and she would be just as careful to guard her reaction to it. She controlled her features even when all she wanted was to run to him and be held. She wanted to call out the stream of questions that flooded her. How did he remember? What did he know? Instead, she played the part of the wolf's helpless prey about to be devoured. She took a tentative step back.

Suddenly, Fenris made his move. He spun around and grabbed Danarius by the neck and in a show of raw power, lifted the magister from the ground with one hand. It reminded her of the way he had dealt with his old master back at the Hanged Man. This time, there would be no mistake. Danarius was going to die.

"What is this?" he sputtered. "What sorcery is this, Champion?"

Hawke sidestepped to get a better angle on Danarius. She shot a cold spell into his chest to ensure that he would not be casting anything while Fenris had him in his grasp.

"It is no sorcery, Danarius. Fenris is free and there is nothing you can ever do to change that," she stated.

Then she saw the hardened expression return as Fenris narrowed his eyes and balled his fist. His lyrium markings glowed, illuminating the darkened space around him. It reflected off of the rain water that was still spilling into the room through the broken window. She couldn't help but notice the hard lines of his bicep tensing under the weight of the magister. His strength excited her, it was a stark contrast to the tenderness and gentle touches she had known from him. Hawke stood gaping at the scene as it played out in front of her.

"I am not your property," Fenris growled, bringing his own face within inches of the magister's.

Then, Fenris pulled his arm back to gain momentum and pushed it forward phasing violently into Danarius's chest. The man's eyes widened in shock, a sickening gurgle and a splatter of his blood on the floor were the last sounds he made. Fenris pulled his arm from Danarius's chest and dropped his lifeless body as though he were nothing but a sack of soiled laundry. Fenris stood there for a moment staring at the man's heart still in his hand. The gore cascaded down his arm and onto the floor as he remained motionless.

Finally, Fenris tossed the organ aside and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Thank you for coming for me, Hawke," he said. "I should apologize for nearly killing you."

She had no idea how to respond. There had been so much happening she'd hardly had a chance to think about what she would say if they came out of it all alive. So many emotions were surfacing at once that she had no real way to know how she felt. All of the pent up rage, worry, and guilt spilled over and Hawke began laughing uncontrollably.

His crooked smile in response was irresistible. She didn't care how much he remembered, she ran to him then, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Her lips found his, and pressed into him urgently, but his response, although warm, was tentative. She pulled back and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck, instead. Whatever he did remember, it wasn't enough to jump right back in where they left off, and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"How did you remember?" she whispered into his neck.

"I left a few notes for myself back on the ship," Fenris said simply as if this was all something he had experienced ten times over. Maker damn him and his cool facade. It made her look like a blubbering fool.

They stood there holding each other for a moment as their breathing slowed, recovering from the stress of the conflict. She breathed him in one last time and stepped out of their embrace, holding on to one of his hands.

"I'm telling you Varric, I always miss all of the fun!" a familiar voice bellowed from behind her.

She felt Fenris tense before he pulled away quickly. His lyrium markings began to exude their familiar blue glow and his face hardened in concentration.

"Get behind me!" Fenris ordered, gesturing at Hawke to move.

She put a hand on his shoulder, "It's alright, Fenris. These are our friends, Isabela and Varric."

He looked absolutely perplexed for a moment before he dropped his shoulders with a deep sigh and his eyes found his feet. When there was no sarcastic retort or witty remark from either Varric or Isabela, she knew they understood the situation. The two of them stood silently, waiting for her to say something.

What could she say? That there was no hope of returning Fenris's memories since she had slit Varania's throat. That she had destroyed his only chance of remembering any of them. If only Anders were here, at least he could have a chance of resurrecting someone if the injuries weren't too difficult to heal.

Anders. She inhaled sharply as a memory dislodged itself from somewhere in her mind.

Anders, Oh Maker, how she loved that man.

Hawke ran to Varania's side and knelt down, rummaging through the inner pockets of her robe. She pulled a small vial from where she'd had it tucked away since they left Kirkwall and uncorked it.

_Mix this with the victim's blood before it cools completely and they will be strengthened enough to rise again._

Anders didn't say how long it took for one's blood to cool completely, or how much blood could be lost before it negated the effects of the potion, but she had to try. It couldn't have been more than three or four minutes since Varania had fallen. Maybe it wasn't too late. The smell of the potion, honey sweet and flowery, wafted up to her nostrils as she poured the contents of the vial into Varania's gash.

Varric walked toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Hawke, she's gone. That wound is beyond anyone's skill," he said gently.

Hawke ignored him and watched the edge of Varania's cut begin to knit itself together. The blood that had been pooling on the floor around her neck began churning as if alive. Varric tightened his grip on her shoulder as the spilled blood snaked up Varania's neck and began flowing back into her open injury.

This was a magic Hawke had never seen and could never have imagined. What price had Anders paid to give her a potion with this kind of power? She shuddered as the remaining crimson liquid slowly made its way back to Varania's body. The wound was nearly closed.

Hawke had taken a few steps back before she was aware she had moved. Fenris was there, taking her hand in his, and they watched.

**Fenris**

Hawke's hand trembled in his own as they saw the gash close across the elf's neck. Hawke's skin was soft against his calloused fingers. He gave her a gentle squeeze, knowing that was what a protective lover should do. She leaned into him, stirring that peculiar warmth in his gut again.

Fenris had ensured that he would remember her. The burning itch of the wounds on his inner thigh were worth it, for here they stood together now.

_ Trust Hawke _

_ You care for her more than anything_

_ You love her_

This last line he had carved into the wood looked like it had been traced over several times. He wondered how long he had known this before he scratched it into the bed frame. He wondered if he had ever told her. He didn't even know where they had met, how she liked to be held, if they had ever lain together as lovers. How cruel that he knew of his love for this woman, but knew nothing about her. He studied her face again, willing it into his mind so deep that some memory of her would surface.

Realizing it was a wasted effort, he turned his attention back to the fallen elf. He knew that he should want for this woman to live, just by following Hawke's lead, but he wasn't sure who she was. He mentally reviewed the engravings he had left for himself, but he had not written any names save for Danarius, Minara, and Hawke.

Fenris had already been embarrassed once for not remembering his friends and decided that asking a question would be safer than remaining ignorant.

He leaned in and whispered to Hawke, "Who is she?"

"That is your sister, Fenris."

He had a sister. He cursed himself silently for not leaving a note about her. He could have tried to save her moments ago, but he hadn't wanted to risk Hawke's life. She was his sister, and he'd stood by and watched her die. His head swam as he tried to relive the confrontation, picking apart ways he could have handled it more effectively. The timing hadn't been right for an attack.

A sharp gasp from Hawke brought him back to the present. She pulled her hand from his grasp and closed the distance to his sister. The slit on her throat had healed completely and now, the steady rise and fall of her chest was unmistakable.

"Varania, can you hear me?" Hawke asked, as if her loud questioning would bring her back faster.

Varania did not move and Fenris came forward to kneel at Hawke's side. She had one hand on Varania's shoulder and placed the other on his knee.

"Andraste's sweet ass, if I hadn't just seen it, I would never believe it," Varric said, his eyes still narrowed in disbelief. "Where did you get that potion, Hawke?"

"Anders gave it to me before we left," she replied.

"So Blondie made himself useful before he slunk of mysteriously?" Varric said, "Well done."

"Now I'm jealous," Isabela began from behind them, "Why didn't I get an all powerful life-returning potion to play with?" She chuckled before continuing, "Really though, where did he learn to make something like that?"

"He said he'd learned it from some research about Tevinter magisters. To be honest, I had no idea it would be so-"

"Effective," Varric interrupted as Varania's eyes fluttered.

His sister looked at him for a moment, then glanced at Hawke who was leaning in closer to feel the pulse of her heart.

"Thank the Maker," Hawke sighed. "How do you feel, Varania?"

"That's a stupid question, Hawke," Varric teased. "She just died. She feels like shit."

One of Varania's lips curled slightly into a smile. "I'm fine, Hawke. I just feel really tired."

Just then, a rustle over his shoulder caused Fenris to look back. But Isabela was already there. Glass crunched under her boots as she closed toward Minara. The rogue had a dagger thrust into Minara's chest before any of them thought to help.

"You lot really need to learn to finish what you start," Isabela said, shooting a dart of a look his way. "If we've learned anything about Tevinter magisters we ought to dismember their bodies and scatter the pieces out to sea."

"I'd say we did the job with Senecus, wouldn't you?" Varric aimed a wicked grin at Isabela. "Let's just say he would have a hell of a time finding his head to put it back on."

"Even so, I'd feel better if we got out of here quickly. There are sure to be servants nosing around already after all of the noise," Hawke urged. "Varania, do you feel strong enough to try to undo the memory suppression spell on Fenris? The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to cleanse."

There was a way to reverse this emptiness he was feeling? Answers for the questions that made his head swim?

He was starting to learn why he had loved this woman.

Varania's voice gained an edge of resolve. "I'm strong enough to try." She pushed herself up into a sitting position and retrieved a tattered spellbook from within her robes. She was panting from the simple effort of sitting up. He hoped that her mind was in better shape than her weary body, for the sake of his memory.

Hawke squeezed his knee and turned to look at him then. "Are you ready, Fenris?"


	18. Memory

**Fenris**

Varania seemed far away as she chanted the foreign words of a spell over and over again. He recognized it as Tevinter, but it must have been a very old dialect or included jargon that he was unfamiliar with. The drone of her voice was the only sound in the room save for his own harried breathing. Varania was leaning against Hawke as she chanted. He was laying on the rug in front of the two of them. Hawke ran her fingers through his hair, he recognized that she was trying to do her part to keep him still. Varania had instructed him to relax, but he was fidgeting with his armor and couldn't seem to keep his eyes closed. He tried to lose himself in Hawke's gentle touch, but the spell was burrowing with a fierce ache into the base of his skull.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to where the rain continued to pound Senecus's garden and water streamed in through the broken window. Isabela sat cross-legged on a cherry wood armchair and Varric was trying to busy himself, buffing his crossbow vigorously, pretending not to watch. Varania's chant had grown increasingly intense and he felt his sister's hands on his temples, turning his head so he would face the ceiling.

He closed his eyes again, trying to think louder than the scalding heat in his head. He knew he had been a slave which meant he'd probably had a hard life. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember all of it. Maybe he would be better off beginning his life again from this day. That would mean no more magic. No more vile spells to twist his mind and burn his flesh. He had had enough of that for a lifetime.

Hawke squeezed his hand then, as if able to sense his thoughts. He needed to do this.

_Trust Hawke_

He had taken great care to remind himself of this, so he conceded to trust her now.

Just then, a piercing blade seemed to rip at the back of his head straight through to his forehead. He tried to sit up, but found he could not move, could not scream. A burning red light enveloped his vision and he wasn't sure if his eyes were opened or closed. It didn't seem to matter, the scalding heat was so intense it dulled everything else. It consumed him whole, working its way down to his limbs.

_He saw him then. Danarius smiled at him as he slunk to the corner where a servant girl cowered next to her dropped tray of food. She had been worthless, Danarius said. She had tried to blame the other servants for her ineptitude before, but now she had no one else to blame. Danarius delighted as he always did, in watching Fenris carry out the punishment. Her eyes were wet with tears as he twisted the girl's heart in his hand._

_ Now he could smell the sewage and sweat of Lowtown. Slavers. He struck down one of them viciously as he caught sight of a group of men, hired swords he'd bought to help take care of his pursuers. But they didn't all have swords and they weren't all men. She stepped up the stairs brazenly to meet him despite the show he had put on with his lyrium markings. Her eyes shone with a keen curiosity as he introduced himself. What a strange woman. The others in her group looked to her as she made the decision to help him. She made a joke and looked him up and down once more before they headed off to Danarius's estate. Her gaze was far too intense for his liking. He hoped she didn't notice the rush of heat to his face. He turned away just in time to hide the traitorous smirk that threatened to unfold on his lips._

_ The sheets were silky, cool when he rolled over to the other side of the bed. She followed him, not letting any space come between their bodies. Hawke was on top of him then, covering him with an exploration of kisses. Her warm breath settled into the crook of his neck, sending a shiver through him, as she rocked her body against his own heat. He didn't know how much more he could take. This woman was going to be the death of him. She sighed into his ear and he found her then._

_ Finally she was there. Just in front of him, sitting at the table alone. He remembered. They had played together while mother worked. He remembered her green eyes and fiery red hair. Varania. He started to smile, but Hawke caught his arm. Warning him. Then he saw them marching from the back of the Hanged Man. It was Danarius and several guards. He looked back at his sister then, she sputtered some ridiculous excuse of an apology. He was a fool to trust her. It was his own fault. He exchanged poisonous words with his former master, unsheathed his sword, and charged headlong into the fray. _

Then he was falling. No, he was flying. His arms and legs were all pins and needles as the fire receded back to the point at the back of his head. He heard someone screaming. Hawke.

"Stop! Stop! It's _killing _him!"

**Hawke**

There was no way in the Maker's creation she was going to allow this spell to kill him. Not after everything they had been through. His pulse was racing and his breath had grown more shallow and frequent. Now it was coming in tiny gasps, ragged and wheezy. It was too much all at once and Hawke desperately tried to block some of the pain for him. She wished she had paid closer attention to Anders's lessons in healing. Maker damn her for her love of force magic. Nevertheless, she kneeled over him, trying her best to shield him from the residual pain of the spell.

Now that Varania had stopped, all they could do was wait. They didn't have much time, though. She had already seen one servant wheel around in horror at the sight of dead bodies, blood, and broken glass. Hawke knew it was only a matter of time before the whole of the household staff was alerted and the city guard was called to investigate. She planned to be gone by then, one way or another.

She was just about to call out to Isabela and Varric to help her drag Fenris in the direction of the ship when she felt a squeeze around her hand. Fenris scrunched his eyes hard in pain once before opening them. He looked at her and managed a weak smile, attempting to raise his head.

"Where is our abomination of a healer when we need him?" Fenris rasped, massaging the side of his head.

Hawke nearly threw herself at him then, holding his cheeks in her hands and kissing him greedily. This time he responded more than warmly. In fact, she was the one to draw back first, feeling everyone's eyes on them.

"Well, I take it that worked then?" Varric said with a smirk.

Fenris only glanced briefly in his direction before allowing her to help him to his feet.

"Let's get out of here," Hawke pressed. "The west entrance was easily accessible and I saw no one on the way in. Can you walk?"

Fenris nodded, slowly rising to his feet. He stubbornly began walking on his own, before she noticed his balance was not his own just yet. She supported some of his weight as they slowly made their way across the great hall. Fenris seemed to find his strength and he leaned on her less and less as they neared the door.

Hawke let out a reflexive sigh as they stepped over the threshold of the villa toward the open garden. They crossed the sprawling lawn and made their way toward the dock. The rain had abated to a light mist. It shone in the moonlight off each blade of grass. Hawke marveled at its beauty instead of how the water sloshed into her ripped boots with each step. The leaves of the towering oaks lining the property rustled loudly in the coastal breeze, masking their noisy footfalls. Fenris was still holding one hand to the back of his head, and walking more slowly than was typical for him, as the two of them fell behind the others.

When they were far enough away from the estate and her heart started to beat normally again, Hawke put a hand on Fenris's arm, "Are you alright?"

Fenris stopped her, holding her shoulders tightly. "I have never felt better."

Without a word, Hawke showed him that she felt the same way. The mist fell around them as they embraced. She could have said a thousand things to him, then, but she could not settle on just one. So she remained silent until her lips revealed to him what her words could not. They held each other close as they slogged the rest of the muddy way back to the _Siren's Call._

**Fenris**

"No!" Varric sighed. "Not yet, you only lay down once everyone else has finished wagering."

"Yes, you're right... of course." Varania shook her head and picked up her hand again. "I fear I will never get all of these rules straight."

"You couldn't be worse than Anders when he first started out," Isabela said.

Varric laughed and looked at Isabela. "Remember when he thought he had us both beat? He even bet the boots off his feet!"

"I almost felt bad for the poor guy. Imagine walking through Darktown barefoot," Isabela said, making a face.

The three of them laughed heartily as Fenris rose to see where Hawke had gone. He had played with them for the first four days at sea, but was becoming increasingly frustrated by the rules. It was as though he was starting to become confused by them. During their last hand yesterday, he had forgotten which was the high card, causing him an embarrassing loss to his sister. She was but a novice at the game and had managed to beat him several times yesterday. He had opted to just watch the game this afternoon to avoid the humiliation.

They were expected to make port in Kirkwall that evening. Hawke had been very anxious to get back. She talked of Anders and some things he had said before she left. She was worried about what he had planned. She talked of Orsino and Merideth and she talked of the Circle. She was concerned with what was to come for the city and was eager to be back. He knew she was probably standing on the bow, watching the water.

Or maybe he would find her still reading a spellbook as she had been this morning. He thought back to their first reading lesson. What had they been reading? He had just thought about it the other night as he laid with Hawke in his arms. He had remembered the name of the book. He had even recalled what robe she had worn during the lesson. Now he remembered neither. He tightened his face in concentration, willing the name of the book back into his memory.

When he reached the top step onto the deck, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

"What is it?" Hawke asked, staring into his eyes.

"Nothing. I just grew tired of Wicked Grace."

She shook her head. "What's with the scowl? Did you lose to your sister again?"

He just snickered and walked with her to the bow. He did not want to trouble her just yet about his memory. She had done enough for him, and he was able to remember most things with ease. It was just every once in a while...

"Fenris, I have something of yours," Hawke said, stopping near a coil of rope at the bow.

High cliffs were visible far in the distance off the starboard side of the ship. The sea had been calm for the last two days. The ship hardly swayed as they made their return voyage. Fenris had enjoyed this time with Hawke, although he longed to have another mission. He longed to fight by her side again. For now, it had been enough to bask in the sunlight on deck, talking and touching and exploring each other.

Hawke's eyes bored into his. "Once I gave this to you and you grew distant, not wanting to hurt me. Not thinking you were worthy," her sad pout transformed into a playful squint. "If you draw away from me again, I swear to the Maker, Fenris, I will ship you off to the first crazed Magister I can find."

She pulled out a red sash from the inner pocket of her robes. He did remember it. Looking at it again brought a rush of feelings and he swallowed to keep them from surfacing all at once. She took his right arm and tied it around his gauntleted wrist, tenderly. She was the only person who had ever taken as much care with him. He vowed then, a silent vow to himself, to the Maker, to the vast field of waves that spread out before them, to never hurt her again.

"Marian, you know I would do anything for you," he drew close to her, assuring that there would be no mistaking the meaning behind his words. "I am yours."

She gave him a sly half-smile. "I love you, too, Fenris."

_*And that is the end of Part I. When I wrote it, I had the intention of creating a sequel. However, I'm realizing that I may not ever get around to it. With the new game coming out in October, I may just find new inspiration with those characters! I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you all so much for the reviews, it really means a lot!*_


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